


weightless we must be

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian Jones returns from Neverland to find that there is a new Dark One.  This is the story of how he meets her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by something that belovedcreation said about what would have happened in Emma became the Dark One in the Enchanted Forest. Thanks to her and artielu for the brainstorming and beta help.

These stories often start with a curse of some kind, and a princess, fair and lovely and usually golden-haired. This one is no different.

There is often a hero: someone brave and strong and true, someone who will break the curse, someone who will free the princess.

This is not one of those stories.

 

...

His boots, still covered with sand from Neverland, have barely touched the soil of the Enchanted Forest when he hears the news: the Dark One is dead, and there is a new one, some other fool who has assumed the title and the dark power that comes with it.

(It is not the homecoming he has wished for.)

Every man, woman, and child in the port city whispers about the death of Rumplestiltskin under his or her breath, speculating about when where why and how, spreading gossip and rumor about the new Dark One – female this time. Some say she’s a wisp of a girl, others argue she is as strong as an ox. They wonder, in hushed tones, about her, and how she managed to kill the (supposedly) immortal Dark One.

“Witchcraft,” says an old woman as Hook walks by, his shoulders heavy with the weight of years spent in the hot humid jungle, learning secrets for a task he will no longer perform.

“Cunning skill,” says an old man as Hook purchases a room, pressing gold coin into the wrinkled palm.

“Dumb luck,” says a young boy, clearing the tables in the tavern, and Hook is inclined to believe this last one is the truth (though he wonders if it is luck, and not something else instead).

…

He lingers in port, unsure because his purpose in life has now vanished like morning mist in the forest; he bears no ill will towards this new demon, has no desire to enact the vengeance befitting of her predecessor on her, for it is not her fault that his Milah is dead and gone. And so he finds that, without the pain and anger to hold onto, he is adrift, cast out to sea – lost.

It does not take long before he is found again.

There is a rumor that the new Dark One is the lost Princess, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, kidnapped when she was but a young girl of seven and raised by the Evil Queen these past twelve years. There is a rumor that her parents are looking for someone to save her - someone who knows about the Dark One’s power.

Someone like him.

(After all, it’s not like he hadn’t made his agenda known, time and time again. A vendetta is nothing without a little pageantry.)

It’s not long until someone finds him, in a tavern, deep in his cups, and offers him passage to Snow White’s palace _to talk_.

He rolls his eyes but finishes his drink anyway, allows the man ( _just a huntsman_ he says by way of introduction) to lead him to horses, which are saddled and ready. As he stands, he gives the small boy scrubbing the floors a few coins and tells him to run fast, to tell Smee to wait for him, that he won’t be long, but as they set off down the dirt road through the forest, Hook knows that things can always change.

He does not expect to see his ship again.

(The thought is not a pleasant one.)

…

He refuses them, at first.

Hook returned from Neverland with poison – poison powerful enough to slay the Dark One (or so says Pan)– which he carries on his person at all times. After all, it’s either that or the dagger, but there’s not a single bone in his body that wants the power that comes with being the Dark One, not a single part of him eager to assume that title and the darkness that clings to it.

(It’s not that he’s unfamiliar with darkness – not at all. It’s just that he’s spent too many years wading about in the shallow pools of it, never fully submerged, staying close enough to shore to never be carried out to sea.)

But the princess looks despondent, and the prince brokenhearted, and he agrees to listen to their efforts to influence him. It doesn’t hurt that there is a roof over his head and a soft mattress beneath it, and three square meals a day that he doesn’t have to buy or barter for. He has nothing else to do, anyway.

It gives him time to think, and to learn.

Slowly, the prince and princess tell him the story of their daughter, stolen away by her grandmother ( _step_ grandmother, the princess interjects) when she was but a young thing of five, and lost to them forever. Twisted, corrupted into a thing of evil – a remorseless creature that bears no resemblance to their child. Killing Rumplestiltskin with the dagger was just the final act in a tragedy that had gone on for far too long.

“What exactly would you have me do?” Hook asks one evening, as they eat. The prince sighs, and the princess places her fork and knife on her plate.

“Bring her back to us,” she says. “She was born capable of darkness – “

“And of goodness – “ the prince adds, though his wife seems to ignore it.

“Bring her back to us, so that we can keep her here, away from others – away from those she might hurt, and those that would take advantage of her powers,” Snow White tells him, and Hook can’t help but fall back in his chair with a sharp laugh.

“She was stolen from you – ” he begins to point out, but the prince and princess interrupt, one after another, with well-rehearsed lines that they must use to assuage the guilt of what their little girl has become.

“It was our fault – “

“We knew Regina was coming - “

“If we had only – “

 

“This time we have the means to keep her safe – from herself and from those around her.” The prince’s tone is severe, his blue eyes imploring, and beside him, the princess buries her face in her hands.

“Help us do this,” the prince says. “Give us one last chance to protect our daughter.”

From herself, Hook thinks, but he says nothing. He thinks about family, about Liam and Milah and the smell of salt water and sea breezes, and how he would do anything to see them again, if given the chance (he’s just not sure what form that would take, and he wonders if he would act as the prince and princess intend, but he does not know).

His mind is made up.

“I’ll bring your daughter home to you,” he tells them. 

He tells himself he’s interested seeing the girl who bested Rumplestiltskin firsthand, when it took him years of looking, centuries trapped in Neverland working for Pan, before he was ready to attempt such a feat. 

In truth, he doesn’t know why. Maybe it was the tears that flecked Snow White’s eyes, or the sadness etched deep in Prince Charming’s face. Whatever the case, it’s only when he’s gone to bed that night, ready to depart at first light in the morning, that he realizes there is no reason, or no good one. A quick death or a slow one, a victory over evil or a defeat, there is no real reason that he agrees. He’s sure he’ll hate himself in the morning for agreeing to what will inevitably be his demise if his silver tongue fails him (it has in the past, occasionally, but tonight he watches the stars out the window, and gets reacquainted with the skies of the Enchanted Forest.

That morning, they receive news that the Dark One has laid waste to a village all due to a small insult, an innuendo about her power made by one of the men who did not cower at her feet. Breakfast is a somber affair, where the prince chews his food angrily, and the princess stares off into space.

“I knew those people,” she says finally, gripping her fork. “They brought their trade here. Good men and women, hard-working and honest.”

“Perhaps it is the darkness – “ Killian offers, but the prince snaps back, “Not just the darkness. Not just that curse.”

They sit in heavy silence, the prince’s words hanging over their heads.

When Killian makes ready to leave, filling his saddlebags with bread and cheese from the castle, accepting a sword from the prince and a blessing from the Blue Fairy (he’s heard about her from Tinkerbelle, so he accepts it with apprehension and a raised eyebrow), the princess approaches.

“Thank you,” she says, pressing coin into his hand. “Thank you for freeing our daughter.”

“Don’t know that I’ll succeed,” he warns her, lest she gets her hopes up, but she shakes her head, smile shaky, eyes still wet with tears.

“You will,” Snow White promises. “Heroes always do.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he is not the hero of this or any story - just a broken man with a broken heart that beats far too strongly for his liking, just a man who misses his love and his brother and the gentle rocking of the sea. He has long since given up the thought of a hero’s journey, for there are no such thing as heroes in this world, just men and beasts and men who become beasts (and sometimes, he wonders which one he is).

The prince stops him as he mounts his horse, clutching the reins in his hands.

“Bring her back to us,” he says, and then pauses before adding “alive or otherwise.” He hands Hook the reins before heading back into the palace with his wife, suddenly leaving Hook with an uneasy feeling.

Perhaps, during his brief acquaintance with the prince and princess, he’s learning a bit more about what sort of man he is, for the prince’s words ring in his ears and he now knows that he is not bringing her back here, regardless of the coin, sword, or other things he’s been given or may receive. A man must have lines he will not cross, and he will not murder a daughter to assuage a prince’s guilt.

 

…

 

The Dark One is not in her castle.

The door opens easily, swinging silently inward on its hinges, welcoming him into the castle’s imposing hall (he shivers, but does not know if it is a draft or the place itself that gives him goosebumps).

The castle is quiet – too quiet – as Hook steps from room to room, silent as a mouse, cautious and intent. Nothing in the East Wing looks touched, and everything – even an elaborate kitchen full of caldrons and ingredients he wishes to know nothing about – seems to be in its proper place.

That is what terrifies him more than the silence. It is as if the great rooms are lying, waiting, for their mistress to return (that the castle is a living, breathing entity is obvious to him - he can feel its heartbeats faintly as he walks across the marble floors).

The West Wing, however, is a different story, and that is where he finds her. Or, rather, she finds him, rushing out with teeth bared and sharp nails clawing at his face (he ducks, avoids her flailing arms, notices how weak she seems when he has to restrain her).

“And here I thought you were the Evil Queen,” he sneers as Queen Regina falls back away from him, her black dress in tatters, her hair a rat's nest atop her head. “Perhaps _Mad Queen_ would be more suited to your current state?”

When she turns her gaze upon him, there is nothing but despair. There is no attempt to put up a different face, no attempt to hide her true feelings under a veneer of regality. Regina, the Evil Queen, is broken.

“She’s not here,” she says, voice gravely and rough, chin pointed slightly upward even as her shoulders fall back, defeated. “She’s gone – trapped me here, with the same spells I used all those years ago to trap her in this very wing.” Venom creeps into her tone, and Hook can gather that having your protégé turn on you is a terrible thing (as is kidnapping young princesses to mold into your image, but that’s splitting hairs with someone like the queen).

She turns away and starts to walk back up the hallway, which is littered with broken furniture and china.. Hook knows that this woman, growing madder by the minute, is right. The Dark One is not here. She would have found him by now if she was.

 _Such a disappointment_ , he thinks, but he is surprised to find that he is slightly relieved. Despite his death wish, he did want to see one more sunrise (and perhaps one more sunset, and the sea - he does not want to die on land, where the mermaids can’t claim his soul and take it down into the depths -)

“But this is her castle,” Hook calls out to the queen’s retreating figure. She stops, turns, and looks at him with such despair in her eyes that he suddenly rethinks his stupid urge to find the woman who stole his revenge from his grasp.

“This is _a_ castle,” she points out softly. “If I were you, I’d look west, to the sea.” She pauses, as if considering him closely. “She always did like the sea.”

He turns to leave, but the Queen stops him with a glance. “She’s not in her right mind, just so you know,” she says, and Hook can practically see the syrup-y sweetness of the Queen’s victory, dripping from every word. “She was already a conflicted girl before the curse but after killing the Dark One…”

“What do you mean, conflicted?” Hook asks, turning to face the woman completely. This is new information, and he has no idea what to expect.

“I mean,” she says, taking a step away, “that as the product of true love, she was destined to be a hero or a villain. I merely taught her how to take what she wanted instead of asking politely.” She shrugs, as if it is nothing to kidnap a young girl, “but that goodness just kept shining through. She fought with it - the power that comes with taking what you want instead of waiting, …” she trails off, and Hook steps forward.

“And?”

The Evil Queen smiles maniacally. “I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself.”

…


	2. two

There is a castle on a cliff, high above the small coastal town that cowers in its shadow, and it is unlike anything that Killian has seen before. Fierce and foreboding, tall towers suspended above the waves, it is a fitting home for a dark creature.

Or at least that is what every soul he found on his quest claimed. 

“In the large castle by the Northern Sea,” say the fishermen of the Wayward River, “where the wind is so harsh it sounds like the souls of the damned. We know this because the fish now swim south, into our large nets.”

“In the palace perched high above the water,” say the farmers in their golden fields, “with walls that gleam in the morning sun. We know this because our kin have fled the town below, fearing for their lives.”

“In the fortress above the rocks,” say the tradesmen, “above the town where ships from Southern Isles arrive every Tuesday” (he does not ask how they know this; after all, living in the Dark One’s shadow must be bad for trade).

The people of the town swear that she is here, that she has been at the castle for several weeks. She has not bothered the town, but the sounds they hear (the barmaid whose heaving bosoms he is becoming quite acquainted with shudders at the thought) could wake the dead/kill a man/really, the list of ways that the sounds could harm the town goes on and on (quite imaginative, the townspeople).

He takes the maid to bed, and he tells himself it because he could be dead in the morning, that he must lose himself in her warmth, but it is not satisfying (she is not Milah). Afterwards, she sleeps soundly in the sheets of his rented bed while he stands at the window, staring out at the castle. The streets below are deserted - presumably due to fear of the Dark One - and so he opens the window slowly, hoping to hear the wretched sounds that they fear so much.

All he hears is the wind.

It is only later, as he tries to fall back asleep, that he wonders if he heard screams as well.

…

 

He practices what he will say on the way to the castle.

He considers starting off with something along the lines of a formal greeting, moving into inquiring about her health and praising her skill at slaying the Crocodile (though he wonders if she will have a scaly appearance too, like her predecessor). He will slowly, gently, ease his way into discussing her parents’ desire to have her safe and her potential imprisonment, which he does not expect to go well (he will not mention her father’s hinted suggestion to have her done away with unless he truly must).

Like everything else thus far, it does not go as planned.

The way to the castle is steep, and he falters occasionally, digging his hook into the rocky soil time and time again to steady himself. It is only after he has progressed halfway up the hill, and the castle no closer to him than before, that he realizes what’s happening.

He stops, sits on the side of the path, and waits for her.

He waits for what he guesses must be hours - the shadows grow shorter, and he sheds his coat in the heat of the midday sun - until finally she arrives, appearing before him out of thin air.

She is nothing like Hook thought she would be.

She is no wisp of a thing, nor is she as strong as an ox, but her green eyes are cold and her mouth narrow as she studies him. He studies her in return, and he can see the resemblance of her mother in the eyes and shape of her mouth, her father in the nose and the way she carries herself. There is a faint scaly sheen to her skin, less so than the Crocodile - instead, she seems to glow from within, her golden hair blazing in the sun, making him squint to look at her. She wears black leather, like him, but unlike him she is clearly not affected by the heat of the day.

She is the most terrifying and beautiful creature he’s ever seen.

“Nice trick,” he remarks.

“Not a trick,” she tells him defensively, and he rises.

“Apologies, oh Dark One,” he says with a flourish of his hand as he bows. “Captain Killian Jones, but most people know me by my more colorful moniker – ”

“Hook.” He glances up with a smile that is carefully crafted to throw women off guard (not that it will work with her, he fears, but he will try anything once).

“So you’ve heard of me,” he asks, and she smirks in return (it is a cruel smirk, one that he’s seen before on the Evil Queen’s face).

“Please…” she says, as she gestures to his left hand.

“Fair enough,” he responds, reaching down to grab his jacket. All of his carefully crafted words fly out of his head as he quickly rethinks his strategy, considers where to go next. He smiles.

“Well, I can see that you’re busy and I hardly wish to take up the time of someone as exalted as you, but I’m afraid that I have some ill news. Your life is in danger.”

The Dark One sneers. “Who would possibly challenge me?” she asks.

Hook takes a deep breath before the plunge.

“Your parents.”

 

…

 

Just as easily as she arrived by his side, so too does the Dark One bring him with her into her castle. He blinks, and they are there, in a large room full of wide windows and doors that open onto terraces which overlook the sea (he inhales deeply, enjoying the scent of salt air that he so missed during his time on land).

The Dark One leaves him to his ruminations, striding across the room soundlessly. She stops before a large table, where a carafe sits with goblets. She pours herself a glass (crystal) of some sort of red liquid. As she pours, she speaks (he notices that she does not offer him one).

“I don’t know that I can trust you.”

“I would hardly expect you to, so soon in our relationship,” he comments, spotting an armchair with silver brocade near the doorway. He sits down, crosses his legs, and waits for her to respond.

She doesn’t. Instead, she takes a sip of her drink, slowly, and he supposes that she’s trying to create an air of mystery and tension (he so hates to disappoint her, but he exhales slowly, waiting).

They play this game for some time until he finally huffs, more annoyed than wary. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, digs the tip of his hook into the wooden arm of the chair.

“Your parents want you dead.” Hook watches for any response – he expects none, to be honest – so when her hand clenches around the crystal goblet, he knows that he has hit a nerve.

“I don’t have any parents,” she replies, regaining her composure before turning towards him.

“Actually, you do – Snow White and Prince Charming, in case you forgot,” he points out, fingertip tapping against the chair’s arm. He is deliberately not looking at her, waiting to see what she will do, and what she does is _move._ Within the blink of an eye, he is being pulled up by her hand in his chest, fist clenched around his still-beating heart.

“They are not my parents,” she tells him, voice high and trembling, “cowardly, weak-willed, unfit to rule – “ she starts to say, but she tapers off, digs her nails in further, and he wants to scream, to yell, but he just grits his teeth. He cannot react. If he reacts with her, here, now, she will win, and he will die, and now faced with death’s cleansing embrace…no. Not now. _Not yet._

Instead, he watches her shake in anger and in something else - something that is not quite fear, but still surprising, and he remembers the Evil Queen’s words, wonders if this is what madness looks like up close.

He cannot bear to look at it any longer.

“Well, from a certain point of view,” he grunts out, watching (surprised) as she lets go, takes a step back, then another, until she retreats across the room towards the door that faces the sea. Her skin, so pale and luminous, shines in the sun, and he squints his eyes and looks away.

“They sent you to kill me.” When he returns his gaze, she is still facing the water but he can tell from the rigid line of her shoulders that she is affected by his words, that what he has told her makes her feel something (but what it is, exactly, is a truth he can’t discern. Yet).

“Well, I believe their words were more to bring you to them, ‘alive or otherwise’,” Hook admits, “but I find that I’m hardly committed to their position, now that I’ve met the illustrious Dark One.” He tries to choose his words carefully, to buy another minute, another hour, for when faced with certain death, he finds he no longer desires it.

It was a foolish plan, coming here.

“Why you? Are you a mercenary?” She turns so that she can look at him, and even though he can see her try to keep her features calm, there is a touch of devastation around her eyes that he finds confusing, and so he shakes his head, allows his lips to curve upwards in a smile.

“Pirate.” He grins cheekily, and she seems to take this as an insult.

“That doesn’t explain why they chose you,” she spits out, and it takes all of Hook’s self-control to not reply with something that would cost him his tongue.

“Let’s just say that I had a bit of a disagreement with some of the methods of the previous Dark One.”

“Meaning – “

“Meaning he killed the woman I loved, and I found a way to avenge her death.”

Her mouth quivers just barely and Hook remembers that she may be the Dark One but she is still young and may not really know the depth of her powers, not like her predecessor. But this show of weakness does not last long, and her eyes are cold once more.

“You’re not leaving here.”

“I hardly expected to.”

That is when she smiles, the sick and twisted one that she learned from her captor. That is when his blood runs cold.

“Good.”

…

He is given a room in a high tower (it is obvious that if he jumps, he will drown in the sea or his body will be broken apart on the rocks below, but he has no intention of jumping). She tells him, as she leaves, that she isn’t sure what to do with him yet.

“If you’re telling the truth,” the Dark One says, “then you may be of use to me. And if you’re lying…”

“Then the sharks will eat well tonight,” Hook remarks.

She studies him - really studies, him, looking him up and down before reaching for the door handle. “Goodnight, Hook. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

She doesn’t.

He sits in the window, watching the sea, until she returns, wearing red, her golden curls falling around her shoulders and maybe, just maybe, if he squints, she may not look like a monster (in the darkness of the castle she still glows in the candlelight, more diamond than gold, and it is awesome and terrifying at once). She does not sit, merely paces the outer corners of the room, keeping her distance. It reminds him of a beast in the wild stalking its prey - an apt comparison as her nails click against the stone, and her heels click against the floor.

“After today, I will give you free reign of the castle while I determine if I can trust what you said about Snow White and Prince Charming’s intentions,” she says, sneering as she stumbles over her parents’ names. She does not look at him. “You may come and go in the rooms as you please, but you may not go in the highest tower nor the lowest dungeon, and you may not leave the walls of the castle grounds.”

“So you intend to keep me?” he asks, thinking about the view from the tower, about the salt air and the sun and the stars. It would be a safe life, and not a bad life, but he is too old to be trapped in a tower. As much as he thought he wanted death - welcomed it, in fact - with each passing day since he started this foolish exercise, he realizes that he has not yet truly lived. There are things he still wishes to do - places to explore, women to bed, food to eat, treasures to plunder. This cannot be the end of his story.

But, perhaps, it is meant to be the beginning.

The Dark One smiles then, sending a shiver down his spine (there is something gruesome in that smile, something so like Pan in its childlike aggression that he looks away). “I certainly can’t let you go, can I? You were clever enough to find me - what if you brought others to my home? And you claim to have found a way to impose vengeance on my predecessor – what if you thought you would try to slay me?”

Hook shakes his head. “I have no desire to kill you. I only came here out of curiosity.”

The Dark One raises an eyebrow. “And you simply agreed to aid those idiots with the full knowledge that you may not complete your quest?”

Hook smiles and shrugs, “Pirate.”

She furrows her brow in a way that is almost childish. “I have never met a pirate before - is this the behavior of your kind?”

Her line of questioning takes Hook back, and he shrugs again. “It is for me,” is the only thing he can think of to say in response.

She nods, clearly letting his words sink in. “I see.” She tilts her head to the side, studies him for a moment, and it is in those seconds that Hook sees a different side of her - someone young, someone taken from her family and raised by a stranger, someone who may not fully grasp the implications of the power she has absorbed. But it is gone in a flash once she catches him looking, and she is out of the chair and by the door before he can blink.

“Remember,” she warns, “not the highest tower nor the lowest dungeon.”

“And not to leave the castle walls. I understand.” Hook nods, and she gives him one more lingering look, the fading light casting shadows across her features.

“And if you disobey me,” she reminds me him as she closes the door, “I’ll kill you in the morning.”

…

This is the point in the story where a storyteller will pause, and remind the reader with a look, or a slow page turn, that it is customary for a hero to be tested.

But, if you remember what was said at the beginning, this is a story without a hero.


	3. three

The next morning, the door opens a sliver, and then an inch, swinging forward of its own accord, allowing Hook to leave his tower room and visit other parts of the castle. And so he does, traveling top to bottom and making a cursory survey of the place, noting the exits and entrances. 

All throughout the castle, he has seen signs of life that surprise him, for he thought the Dark One managed this castle through strength of will and magic alone. And yet, no - here a skirt swishes around a corner, there another maid scurries away like a roach faced with the light, everywhere there are people who inhabit these same walls as he does (well, not exactly like him - he assumes he will have to return to his cell at night, after all). 

The castle itself is beautiful - there is a large courtyard whose stone walls echo with the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below, and plenty of balconies and terraces where he may view the sea. But within several hours, he is bored, and so he seeks out company.

By evening, he has found his way into the kitchens, where a thin young girl feeds the massive fire over which a large cast iron pot hovers untethered (this is proof of the Dark One’s magic at work). Her dark hair is dirty, and pulled away from her thin face, but she still smiles at him when he approaches before hurrying to fetch him a bowl.

“Stew, m’lord?” she asks, and Hook nods as he sits down at the long table that takes up half of the room (the servants must eat here, he thinks, though he wonders where any of them are). He watches as she carefully gives him some stew, watches her take an appreciative sniff as she hands it to him. 

She brings over a loaf of bread and a knife, and sets about cutting thick slices, then adds a crock of butter to the table. He catches the way that she licks her lips as she turns away. 

“Would you care to join me, miss?” he asks, grabbing a piece of bread and placing it beside his bowl. The girl shakes her head then grabs a broom nearby and busies herself with sweeping (but he knows idle labor when he sees it, knows that she is working just to prevent herself from engaging with him more).

“I’m quite lonely, eating all by myself,” he says, bringing out the flirtatious charm he keeps for a rainy day, but again she ignores him, and so he wonders. Does she have enough to eat? She reminds him of the orphans he sees on the docks (a position he knows intimately) and so he tries once, twice, three times more to engage her in conversation, to have her sit down. He asks about her family (none), her time here (just arrived), and then he finally gives up.

“Look, I know you’re hungry,” he says, with phantom hunger pains from long ago lingering in his gut, “and I can’t eat this alone.”

“I can’t,” she tells him, “the mistress says I may not.”

The Dark One. Killian purses his lips. If he forces her to eat, she disobeys her direct orders and may be punished. If he doesn’t feed her, he’s not sure she’ll finish her chores for the day - she looks damn near ready to fall over from fatigue. 

He looks down at the bowl of stew once more, then picks up his spoon and takes a few sips. He picks at his bread, grabs the heel of the loaf, and picks at it some more, making more of a mess than anything else, but when he is done there is enough food on the table to fill the belly of the young servant (his own belly is not quite as full, but he has gone days without eating and this is nothing).

“I’m quite finished,” he tells her after making a show of eating. “Does your mistress let food go to waste?”

The girl’s eyes are as big as saucers as she studies the food covering the table, and then, hesitates, before shaking her head. 

“It shall be our little secret then,” he tells her, giving her a small bow as he exits.

He waits for the Dark One to appear to him as she does every night, but the sun has set and the star are out before there is a knock on the door. Hook frowns - she is never that polite - and when he goes to open it, he is not surprised to see the servant girl on the other side. 

He is surprised to see her eyes wide eyes and trembling lip - but not at all surprised to see the claws that dig into her neck, preventing her from moving.

“You thought to help her.” 

Behind the girl is the Dark One, her voice a low growl, her eyes burning bright in the darkness, and he tries to clamp down the fear that surges through him, replacing it with righteous indignation.

“Was that, in the kitchen - was that a test?” he asks angrily, and the Dark One smiles, haughty like that evil bitch he found trapped in her abandoned castle.

“The first of many,” she tells him, and frustration surges throughout his body.

“What good was it to give me freedom of the castle then prevent me from helping? What did you seek to learn about me through that?” he asks, feeling outraged at being so manipulated. He should never have come here. He should have told the prince and princess no - 

“Do not forget that this is my home and you are only a guest,” the Dark One says, letting going of the servant girl (he hears her running down the hallway and once he knows that she is gone, he continues to speak his mind). 

“Have you ever wanted for food? Have you ever heard your belly growl night after night? Have you ever stolen from the grocer or the baker and made that theft last a week?” he rants, watching her eyes go wide. “Have you been so hungry you thought you may die? I have, and that girl was starving, and I do not care if you must take it out on me - at least she ate.”

She inhales sharply. “Do not presume to tell me how to run my household!”

On the final word, a wave of magic hits him and slams him into the wall. 

That is all he remembers.

He does not regain consciousness until sometime in the middle of the night. The stars are out as he pulls himself up, sits shakily on his bed. He can feel the welt above his right ear, can feel the dull hunger cramps that fill his stomach. 

He should never have come here. He was a fool to do so.

…

He does not sleep that night but chooses to watch the stars as they fade from the sky. His diligence is rewarded by a knock on the door before the sun has made its way up from the horizon.

The door opens of its own accord and Hook is (extremely) surprised to find the Dark One standing there. She holds a plate of food - bread, and jam, and some sausage and cheese - and his stomach growls when he smells it. And yet he does not approach her. 

“Is this another one of your games?” he asks, not moving from his seat by the window, and she shakes her head. There is a look of contrition on her face, and it is so alien from what he has come to expect that he is taken caught off guard by it. 

“Consider this an apology for my behavior last night,” she tells him, taking a step closer and placing the plate on the table. She steps back until she is against the stone wall, and she waits. 

Hook crosses the room in three short strides, sniffing the plate (I’ll most likely kill you in the morning) before determining that if there is poison he cannot smell or taste it, and if there isn’t then he’s wasted perfectly good food. 

He takes a bite of bread. 

The Dark One says nothing as he eats, and he takes the opportunity to study her - really study here, from the skin that sparkles even without direct sunlight (he remembers the Crocodile, all scales and a golden sheen, and yet this is different - skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood). Her blonde hair falls in a braid down her left shoulder, and she does not wear the dark leathers she’s worn so far, instead dressed in a tunic and breeches in muted greys. This morning, she does not look like the Dark One; she looks like a woman, or a reasonable facsimile of one. 

It’s different, to say the least. 

“I’m sorry for last night,” she tells him, and he can hear the sincerity in her words. She is truly sorry, and he is taken aback by it. “Is your head -?”

“I’ll live.” He swallows some cheese, then, “if I may be so bold as to ask what changed your mind?”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Last night you were adamant your rules should be followed. This morning you apologize for punishing my disobedience…” he lets his question linger in the air between them as he takes another bite of bread. 

“What you said, about the orphans,” she starts, playing with the sleeve of her shirt. “You were right - I’ve never known that kind of hunger. I’ve never thought that I might die from something as trivial as hunger - other things, yes, but never food.” She closes her mouth once she says this, eyes wide, and looks almost frightened. 

He does not think it’s possible to be more surprised, yet the feeling keeps growing. He swallows quickly, nods his head in response. “I see.”

This is not the Dark One who found him on the road to her castle. This is not the creature who established her power through force or who retaliated when she thought she was disobeyed. This is not a creature at all, but a young woman - a girl, practically - who grows more and more nervous by the minute (is it the hook?). Perhaps he should say something. 

He rises. “Look, I - “

But she is gone in the blink of an eye, the half-eaten plate of food the sole reminder that the conversation ever happened.

…

The next day, he meets Robin.

Hook spends his time wandering the castle, paying careful attention to the twists and turns. He sees the serving maid again but she runs away before he can greet her, and so he ends up once more in the large courtyard. From there, he spots the small winding path to the small winding gardens, perched high above the sea. 

He is seated on a bench that is surrounded by roses and overlooking the water, when he meets the garden’s caretaker. 

“I heard we had a guest,” the other man says by way of introduction, taking off well-worn gloves and extending a hand towards Hook. “Robin. I manage the grounds.”

“Killian Jones,” he responds, shaking his hand. “Guest of the Dark One.”

A look crosses Robin’s face, and his eyebrows meet his hairline. “Aren’t we all,” he muses before letting go of Hook’s hand. 

The two men talk briefly before Robin returns to work, and Hook learns that there are a few other servants here but not many, that Robin has been brought from the other castle, and that what the Dark One said about the highest tower and the lowest dungeon was true. 

When Robin leaves, there is a strange taste in the back of Hook’s mouth, and the uneasy feeling of being watched that makes his flesh crawl. He returns to his bench, and watches the sea until sunset, but it does little to ease the turbulent emotions in his soul. 

…

That night is the first night he hears the screaming. 

He wonders if he has merely missed it all other nights - perhaps he has slept too soundly (perhaps it was the head wound?). On that night he cannot tell where it is coming from, only that it seems to resonate through the entire castle, through the walls and into his bones, and he cannot sleep.

…

“I heard screaming the other night.”

Hook is sitting with Robin as he works, occasionally lending help where he can (there is little for a one-handed man to do in a garden as beautiful as the Dark One’s, few improvements he can make without the gentle touch of two hands and ten fingers). It is better than being alone. 

Since her bizarre admission, he has not seen the Dark One. Robin tells him that she is traveling, summoned by those supplicants who want her dark and awesome power. It has only been a few days since he heard the screams, not even a week since his arrival here, but the sound haunts his waking thoughts and it is only when he rises each morning after a full night’s sleep that he realizes she is not there. 

Robin sighs, using his hands to trim some leaves from a rose. “There are always screams when she is here,” he says after a long silence. “They started when she became the Dark One.”

“You’ve known her for some time,” Hook presses, curious as to why she screams.

Robin looks up at the sky, squints into the sun. “It may storm tomorrow. Will you pass me those scissors? These blooms should not be wasted.”

The next day, he asks more questions while they are in the small orchard. “How did she become the Dark One?”

“She made a foolish error,” is all that Robin will say. “Would you pass me that basket? These cherries are ripe.”

On the third day, he is with Robin in the kitchen, drinking ale and watching as the rain pours down onto the courtyard and the water below. The Dark One returned last night, for there was screaming again, loud enough to wake the dead.

It is not just the screams that are threatening to do him in, but rather the waiting. He has not seen her for days, does not know if the food the servants bring him is poison so he chooses to eat with her servants, hoping that she will not kill them all. He still does not understand her erratic behavior of the other day (why apologize, when you’re the Dark One? What good would that serve?)

“Does it come from the highest tower or the lowest dungeon?” Hook asks, the sound rattling around inside his skull.

“Your tankard is nearly empty, my friend. Pass it to me so that I may get you more,” is Robin’s only response. It is obvious he will not talk about the Dark One, at least not her screams or how she came to be what she is (a lost princess, subject to the machinations of darkness and the miscalculations of a twisted queen) so he chooses a different line of inquiry.

“She came to my room a few days back and apologized,” he says. 

This surprises Robin, who nearly drops the tankard before catching himself. “I see,” is all the other man can say, and Hook does not press. He takes another sip of ale, and a bite of bread, and he waits. 

“Apologized…” Robin lets the word trail off, as if mulling over the sound of it before staring into his tankard, deep in thought. He finally sighs, and raises his eyebrows before remarking, “I’m glad to hear of it,” and taking a drink.

“Why?” Hook presses, desperate to understand what has kept him awake at night (other than the screaming, of course). 

Robin stares deep into his cup before finally raising his eyes to meet Killian. “It tells me that there is still hope for her yet.”

“She’s the Dark One,” Hook points out, but Robin shakes his head, swallows.

“I still see her as Emma, the little lost princess from the castle. Greedy, perhaps, and too easy to claim what she wanted, but without a mean bone her body. She would never hurt anyone. Not until…”

There is a clap of thunder outside, and the castle shakes, and Robin finishes his ale. “I should say no more. See you at supper?”

Hook nods, watching as the other man scurries away, looking frightened. He mulls over the information wetting his lips and saying the name aloud. Even in his dealings with the princess and princess - even in his meeting with the queen - no one said her name. 

“Emma.”


	4. four

All evil has an origin.

This is the story of the darkness.

…

In the beginning, there is the darkness, and it is without form. It is a river, weaving through the world. It is the earth, breaking the ground beneath one’s feet and swallowing everything whole. It is a fire, burning from the inside out. It is the air, suffocating souls from the inside out. It destroys everything it touches, twists and corrupts its hosts into something unrecognizable from their former selves, spoiled by their own desires, before it leaves them and finds a new body, a new soul to ruin. 

It takes a brave wizard to bind the darkness to steel, to flesh and blood and bone and marrow, to give it form and bind its will. The darkness can still consume, but now only one soul at a time. It can still corrupt, but only one victim, until another comes to take the power for their own. Everything balances on a dagger’s edge, the great power and the great price, for to take the darkness into oneself, a person must be willing (or desperate enough) to give up all they have for something more.

First, there is the son of a great king, noble and highborn, who desires glory above all else.

Next, there is the son of a noble lord, and then the son of a baker, the son of a cobbler, and the son of a priest. After many more men, finally, there is the son of a thief and a liar, and he lasts the longest of all of them, emboldened by his own cowardice until the darkness consumes him whole.

Then, there is a princess.

Oh, but she is not a princess – not quite the way that most princesses of this land are, with their simple pleasures and simple ways. Yes, she is a princess of the blood, but stolen from her family at a young age, raised by another (family but not) filled with anger and fear and bitterness. She is already twisted and corrupted, taught to feed and to give into the anger, taught that it gives her strength (it is so easy to grow into such a creature when one is mostly nourished by lies).

When she becomes the Dark One, it is less because of her own desires and more because of the anger that has rooted itself within her (and yet, she and the darkness both know there is good within her - good that struggles to break the thorns around her heart, that struggles to grow when there is only fury in her veins).

…

This is a mistake.

That is what she thinks when she plunges the dagger into Rumplestiltskin’s chest, when she sees the look of absolute astonishment in his brown eyes. He places a hand on hers, pulls her towards him, and the dagger slips in deeper.

“Oh, you will regret this, dearie,” he says, before giggling one last high, impish laugh and that is when it starts – a swirling, oily, black shape surrounding her like a storm.

Behind her, she can hear Regina shout but it is too late. She is already lost before the darkness consumes her.

…

There is power at her fingertips, power coursing through her veins and she is alive like she’s never been before.

It is terrifying (it is wonderful).

…

I have made a mistake.

That is what she thinks, seated on the roof of the highest tower, watching the waves crash below.

When she came to this castle two years ago, this castle high above the sea, it was so that she would be safe. The village was isolated, so few would come to seek her out and harm her.

She brought Robin and that servant of Rumplestiltskin, Belle, with her and here, on this castle on a cliff, she did not think any of Regina’s broken armies would come to claim them.

But then the pirate arrives, and her world is thrown off its axis.

(She should never have let Regina live.)

…

Rumplestiltskin was right.

Two years ago, she was a young girl, learning magic every morning and spending the afternoons exploring the woods on her horse, chasing Roland through the castle. 

Two years ago, she grabbed the dagger in anger and shoved it into the Dark One’s chest without thinking, even though she knew better, even though she always knew better.

…

Rumplestiltskin was not right – she loves this power coursing through her veins, the anger that grows each day with each moment of regret for the decisions she’s made, the decisions made for her, and the life that she’s lost. 

Anger is power, Regina always said, and right now Emma is angry at this man – this interloper – who is here, in her home, teasing her with details about those who wish to harm her, those who wish to see her dead, and she is so angry that she cannot decide what to do with him and them.

This has never happened before; she has never hesitated, never allowed herself to consider the actions fully before they cannot be taken back. But here, and now, with this man in front of her all smugness and leather and eyes the color of the shallow pools that form at the base of the cliff when the tide rolls out - this man makes her stop. This man makes her listen. This man makes her think about the right way to put her anger to good use.

Clearly he must not leave.

…

This is a mistake.

That is what she thinks when she flees the pirate’s presence, escaping to the highest tower, slamming the door behind her.

The darkness within her revolts, as it always does when she fights against the baser desires that enter into her mind (it was like this, before, this constant struggle between impulse and restraint, between giving in and holding out), and she grits her teeth, slams her hands over her mouth but the screams come anyway. They are screams of agony and anguish and pain as she fights within herself, and she bites down on her knuckles until the urge passes.

This is a mistake. 

She should not have hurt that servant girl - 

He is right, he is right, he is right, she thinks as she rocks back and forth, she has not wanted for anything, she has not needed anything, and no matter how much she would like to be angry at him for not following her rules, no matter how much she wants to rant and rave at how he needs to obey her if he wishes to stay here (he is not a guest he is a prisoner, do not forget that Emma) something else stirs inside her chest. A foreign feeling, yet vaguely familiar (she remembers the taste of sugar on her lips, the smile of a woman with kind eyes so much like her own, her words fumbling over each other to apologize - )

It is guilt she feels – strange and unwelcome, lodging itself between her ribs and making her ache.

(The only way to get rid of guilt, a male voice whispers, a voice from long ago, is to make amends to those you’ve wronged.)

She sits on the floor, tucks her knees to her chest, and stares out the window until the sun rises and the decision is made.

She will apologize.

The darkness within her revolts but she grits her teeth.

She will do this. 

She will apologize.

(She feels something inside of her stirring at the thought. Something different than the darkness. Something new, and a bit alarming, yet welcome all the same.)

Her body is a land inhabited by conquering armies, neither ready to cede their ground (and if she does not allow one to win, the war will surely destroy her).

…

She has known Robin since she was but a girl; he was the gardener at Regina’s castle. He was widowed, and he had a son (Roland) whom she played with, scampering through the mazes and the orchards, chasing each other until stitches formed in their sides and they fell over laughing.

Emma had never been so happy.

All of that changed when Rumpelstilskin took Roland from them. All of that changed when she plunged the dagger into his chest, when she lost the only family she ever knew.

(She loved Regina, loves her still and that is why she punishes her. She knows Regina loved her, and loves her still, and that is why she allows herself to be punished, for Regina could break the bonds that Emma has placed around her with her death, but the fact that she does not hangs over the both of them like a blade ready to fall, reminding them both of the power of weakness.)

This is why she does not rage when he finds her in the highest tower, contemplating the ebb and flow of the tide (it is distracting her from the movements of her guest within the walls of her castle, the way that he seems to spread out into all of the corners of this place even if he’s been here but a few days). 

Instead, she is merely annoyed at Robin for his interruption.

“I heard that you apologized today,” he says without preamble, and Emma bristles at the tone of his voice and the implications of his words (the pirate’s words have not softened her, and he has not forced her hand - it was her decision to apologize for her behavior towards her servant, not his sadness or his story - )

“I see the pirate has does not keep his mouth shut.” She rolls her eyes, stomping away from the window to fall into a nearby seat. She knows he is watching her and so she sighs dramatically, folds her hands in her lap in imitation of genteel behavior (she remembers mornings in the library with Regina, learning proper etiquette for a lady of her stature and she straightens her shoulders, lowers her head - )

“I acted out of turn,” she admits, her voice carefully contrite, “and for that, I offered an apology.”

“I’ve seen you feign innocence before, Emma,” Robin remarks snidely. “I’m surprised you didn’t bite your lip and flutter your eyelashes.”

“Would it have worked?” she asks with mock-innocence, biting her lip, and Robin smiles thinly.

“With the pirate, perhaps, but not with me - I know you too well.” He walks over to the window, looking out over the desolate beach (while the Dark One lives in the castle above the villagers avoid the sands below). “That is why I’m here, for an apology from Emma is a rare thing indeed.”

She scoffs. “I have owned up to my failures in the past,” she tells him. 

“I seem to remember a young lady with a penchant for stealing others’ possessions if they were not careful. She was hardly contrite.”

“People should have taken better care of their belongings. Still, I hardly find it surprising that I would admit when I was wrong.” Emma reaches over to the nearby table, grabs a goblet of wine and takes a sip while Robin stands, staring out the window.

She does not need to ask him why he is here - he needs to explain himself for venturing here. He needs to explain why he sought her out. But he does not, and her impatience grows. 

“Look, gardener, if I wanted advice about flowers I’d summon you, but since you found your way here - “

Robin narrows his eyes, cocks his head. “Curiosity,” he admits. “The screams from the tower have grown louder of late.”

Her words hit their mark; she feels both embarrassed at her vulnerability, and angry that he’s pointed out her weakness, her constant internal struggle between the darkness that wishes to consume her soul, and the shard of goodness that he helped cultivate all those years ago. 

She reacts violently, hurling the goblet at him, watching as it hits the wall beside Robin’s head, the red liquid dripping down and staining the stone (she wonders if it can be scrubbed out or if it will stay forever). 

Robin raises his eyebrows. “A momentary lapse in judgement?” he asks, and there is no mistaking the edge in his tone, “or perhaps you are manipulating him into thinking you are kind? There must be something else at play, for the Dark One apologizes to no one.”

She can taste bile in her throat but Emma makes herself think of Roland - of the love she bore for this man (that she still bears, even if he acts insolent - even if he acts like she is still that girl she once was, pouring salt in this wound). 

“Would it surprise you to think that I have a plan?” she lies with a smile, and she knows that she must look like Regina at her worst because Robin recoils before turning away.

“I was merely curious,” he says as he brushes past her towards the door, and Emma does not move, merely lets him go, hearing the words he does not say echo in the quiet space: if you were offering up apologies, why did you not start with me?

(She remembers Roland with his kind eyes turned to glass, the frustrated cries of Regina behind her, the way that she reaches for the dagger - )

She gives into the darkness that night, allowing the power to consume her, feeling once more as her soul is eaten away (she screams, but there is no one to help her. There is never anyone to help her anymore.)

…

It will always be strange to Emma that people summon her – they summon the Dark One like they might a neighbor or a friend. Thrice her name is spoken, and the pull starts deep within, growing as minutes pass. She must go. She must always go, even if she does not want to. Which is to say that, when the pirate summons her, she rushes immediately to the library.

It is strange, to see him among her books, to see him acting so familiar (but, she reminds herself, she had made this his home until she can make up her mind). 

She is not angry, though, like she would be angry if someone else were acting as such.

It is strange, to realize that she is not angry; it seems to make fury grow inside of her.

She has arrived as silently as she always does, and she takes him by surprise when she speaks.

“How did you know?” she asks, and her voice cuts through the room like a knife.

He freezes, hook pressing into the vellum of the map. He does not look up, nor does he respond, and it infuriates her (who is this man to not look upon her in all her power and tremble?).

“How do I know what?” he asks finally, sliding his eyes over to look at her, angling his chin up, and there is something in his manner that makes the dark anger grow inside of her at his flippant tone and casual manner.

“Don’t play coy with me, pirate,” she spits out his profession like a curse, and grits her jaw, and does not respond.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he tells her with an air of nonchalance that only fuels the fire within her. “Do you mean how did I know that saying your name thrice summons you?”

“That I am not surprised by,” she answers. “What does surprise me is that you knew my name, for I did not see fit to share it with you.”

The room grows colder as she grows more upset and yet he does not react, does not give her the satisfaction of capitulation. 

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Your parents,” he lies and she knows immediately who has done it (Robin, she knows he spends his time with Robin). She advances on him, hand outstretched, and his windpipe is slowly closing, his feet lifting off the floor -

“I didn’t,” he chokes out, “I did not mean to - “

She can see fear in his world-weary eyes, and is surprised to find that all the power that comes from taking a man’s life leaves her in an instant. It is as if something within her revolts, and she lets go, lets him fall to the floor while she recoils. She escapes to the far side of the room, unsure of what is happening within her, feeling confused in a way that she’s never felt before.

That is when he looks up at her, hand on his throat, eyes so very blue, and she feels a draw that is so raw, so mortal (and she is not mortal, she is darkness incarnate) that she clenches her fists, steels herself to resist it.

(It is the resistance that is the most surprising.)

“I did not mean to summon you,” he says, standing up, hand and hook in front of him in compliance, until he smirks and can’t help but add, “but would it bother you if I did?”

There’s something about his smirk that makes her lips twist upwards in a smile, but the look on his face tells her that this smile is something else – this smile is not one he wants to see (she looks like Regina when she smiles and she knows it, uses it to her advantage when instilling fear in the hearts of those who provoke her…)

“There’s power in a name,” she tells him, turning on her heels and walking towards the door. “You’d do best to remember that, Killian Jones.”

She leaves him alive, without a final glance, but there is a shakiness in her bones and a need in her veins that she doesn’t recognize, but which frightens her all the same.

…

Soon after the pirate summons her, she summons Robin to the lowest dungeon.

He stands, and watches as she carefully measures out the lacewing flies for her potion before he speaks.

“The pirate knew the power of my name,” she says, and even as she speaks she is aware that she sounds like a petulant child, being chided by an elder (and even as she speaks, she is aware of the way that her heart pounds in her chest, like there is a secret buried there). “The pirate knew my name.

Robin looks at her, and she still sees the man whom she grew up with who treated her like his own flesh and blood, and she looks away (she is easily influenced by those she loves, which is why Regina is far away).

“Emma.” 

She does not glance up, merely looks to the next ingredient in this potion.

“I told him your name,” he admits, and she can hear the sadness in his voice. “Do with me what you like but spare Killian - it is not his folly but my own.”

Emma pauses, her knife poised above a newt, ready to remove the eyes, but she places it on the wooden table next to the animal instead. 

“Why?” Her question, spoken softly, sounds loud in her ears in this small space. “Why did you tell him?” She feels small, and vulnerable, and the feeling makes her uneasy. 

This is when Robin dares touch her, dares to still her hand (this is when she glances up, full of fury which dies when she looks at him, into his familiar eyes).

“He may be helpful,” is all that he says before squeezing her hand and stepping back (she feels the loss of contact like a blow to the gut).

(This is the first time someone has touched her since she took the darkness into herself.)

She watches Robin leave, listens to his steps retreating up the stairs, and does nothing. Her hands lay flat against the table, her fingernails digging into the old wood, and she thinks about the potion - to make her invulnerable, to steel her heart and cool her soul. She thinks about the potion and she thinks about the wide blue eyes of the pirate.

Her fingernails dig into the old wood.

She is keeping the pirate here for her own reasons, but for Robin to point it out as well -

The vial of half-made potion ends up on the ground, shattered, ingredients seeping into the stone below her feet.

She travels, fast as the wind, until she reaches the top of the stairs, blocking Robin’s escape.

“What do you mean?” Emma asks, voice shrill. “What do you mean he could help us?”

Robin hesitates, and she wonders what he sees before him (it’s not as if he hasn’t seen her at her full power, it’s not as if he hasn’t seen her in all her terrible glory - she wonders how she must seem now). When he does not respond, she clenches her hands into fists to prevent herself from harming him to get the information.

“Tell me,” she says, then adds, softly, “please.” She wants to grab him and shake him until he speaks but she just keeps her hands clenched and takes a step back, breathing heavily as she tries to keep the Darkness in check.

“Emma.” She looks up to find a serious look on Robin’s face. “You remember what Regina told you, when you became the Dark One.”

Emma nods. “That I would have many enemies, and no friends.” She chokes on the words, remembering the way that Regina had reached for her, to remind her that family was still within her grasp - remembering what she has done to Regina, still trapped in that dark castle -

“Killian has to know about more than just the... people... who sent him to hurt you,” he tells her. “He has traveled. He knows much about other realms, and other people who might wish to harm you.”

“Do you think that I do not know that? That is why I keep him here,” she barks. “He is a pirate, and his words shift like the sands on the beach from one day to the next.”

Robin can’t help but smile. “He is a pirate, that is true, but I’ve come to learn that appearances can be deceiving.” There is a sliver of something in his voice as he speaks, and Emma realizes with shock that is is affection - for her - even after all that she’s done...

(But then there is the feeling of power that surges through her bones as her name is called once, then twice, and a third time while she stands in front of Robin. A young girl, and a party dress - a petty concern, but one she will ask such a price for - )

She leaves to find this young girl, with the thought of having an ally - even in the form of this pirate - slowly drifting away but never leaving her mind (it digs its heels in and it’s all she can think about in the slum where the young girl lies in cinders and soot, asking with hope in her heart that is both familiar and yet not to Emma, and the battle inside herself makes her soul ache).


	5. five

Hook had always dreamt of living in a castle.

In these dreams, this castle was perched high above the sea.  The tables groaned with all the food he could eat, and there were so many rooms that he would get lost for days on end.  In these dreams, all the footmen and maids and cooks would have to go looking for him and when they found him, there would be a grand celebration because everyone missed him so greatly (at least, that’s what he dreamed when he was a young boy scrubbing the decks of Long John Silver’s ship).

As he grew older, the dream lingered but it took on a new form and substance.  To Hook, it still seemed ideal to live in a place with servants to wait on him hand and foot (and as he grew and especially once he joined the navy, he added _privacy_ to that list).   Even when he became a pirate captain, he still dreamed of a place on land to call his own, close enough to the sea but still isolated so that he could be alone with Milah, but that dream disappeared with Milah’s last breath.  

Suffice to say, the reality of living in a castle is nothing like what he imagined it to be.

To start, Hook is finding that it is quite drafty in this castle, and the dampness from the sea seems to cling to his skin in a way that it never did on his ship (he tries and fails not to think of his ship too often).   There is only a finite number of ways to amuse himself, for Robin has chores to do and the maid to whom he spoke – and who the Dark One used against him – avoids him, and he cannot blame her after what happened. 

He is not quite a prisoner– there are no chains to hold him here against his will as far as he knows, and the Dark One is gone for days on end – but he is not quite free.

His room is spacious, but there is only so much that he can do, so many things to explore.  There are new clothes in the wardrobe, new boots beside the bed, but it is not his cabin, it is not his ship, it is not his home.

In short, there is not much for him to do except eat, and walk the grounds, and wonder what would happen if he did get lost (maybe the Dark One would find him?)

(That thought is strangely tempting in and of itself.)

 

 

…

 

The first time he finds the library, he is surprised to find that there are not many books here - not as many as the palace of the Prince and Princess, not as many as the castle of the Evil Queen.  Hook has always enjoyed reading – One-Eyed Willie taught him on Long John Silver’s ship, and it was something to pass the time, and to answer all of the questions he could stop pestering the other sailors (Liam always thought his curiosity was an endearing trait, but he was the only one it seemed).

The second time he finds the library, he realizes that there are enough books that he can skim through them and see if there’s anything new to learn about the Dark One.

He knows all of the basic facts: it will take dreamshade to poison the creature, but if he used the dagger he would become the next in line; the magic is old and ancient and just because it seems like there is a way to kill the creature doesn’t mean there actually is (he does so love a contradiction).  But he does not know what powers the Dark One has, or the very heart and soul of being such a creature, and he is intrigued.  The way that Robin speaks - when he does speak of her, of _Emma_ \- it is as if she has accidentally assumed this power, that she was never as corrupted as many believe her to be.

 _Emma_. A name fitting a princess, not a monster.  He closes the book, and finds an atlas.  There will be no answers here - the tomes long removed to another location, any weakness of the Dark One kept hidden.  He would do best to not let it consume him.

He opens the atlas to a familiar page, tracing the old routes he knows so well, from Arendelle to Misthaven to Camelot and back again, voyages made with Liam when he was still a young sailor, wet behind the ears.  He drags the tip of his hook along the page lightly, remembering that last voyage to Neverland (it’s never on the map). So many places, such a long life ago. 

  
He wonders if the Dark One has traveled, and how she does now.  By smoke and magic, like the one he knew? Or by some other means?

(He summons the Dark One the second time that he finds the library, accidentally even if she does not know it, and though he does not let it show, he is terrified by how easy it is to call her to his side, and how very much he wants to do it again.)

 

…

 

That is the moment when things change.  A subtle shift in focus, a gentle awakening of awareness.

She intrigues him, this Dark One (he thinks her name once, cautiously, mouth forming it like the first word of a song), in that she is more prone to impulsive decisions than her predecessor. 

She intrigues him, this Dark One, in the she is so very unpredictable, and that keeps him on his toes

She intrigues him, this Dark One, in that he’s never seen such a battle over a soul as he sees in her eyes.

 

…

 

The library becomes his refuge.

  
It is the only room in the castle where the smell of salt air is not as strong, and the air is dryer (no doubt some prior occupant had it enchanted to preserve the books, rich people and their trivial spells…) so he doesn’t find himself looking out the window at the sea with a sense of longing. 

On the fifth day he comes to the library for solace, he learns the name of the servant girl.

She was already there when he arrived, straightening up a pile of books that he had left the day before (the Dark One has yet to return to the castle from her latest journey).  He watches from the doorway as her fingers brush lovingly against the spines, as she touches them with such care and appreciation that he wonders who she really is, for no servant girl he’s ever met has been able to spend much time in a library, let alone buy or read a book.

After some time, she notices him and her face blushes scarlet and she steps back, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” she says with a sad smile, then adds with a shrug, “I just love books.”

Hook takes a step into the room, then another, but she does not flinch like a skittish animal, does not look for a place to run to, and then he wonders: the kitchen is not her domain, but this library must be, for she stands tall among the books and maps and trinkets like the queen of the land.

Perhaps it was, one day long ago.

Hook looks down at a table, picks up a small globe and holds it in his hand (he is careful to not seem too earnest).  “Did you come to the castle with the Dark One? Or were you already here?”

The servant girl looks down at the stack of books again, then sighs.  “This was one of my homes.  One of our homes, before the Dark One – “ 

She stops, and to Hook it seems as if she cannot talk – like she is choking on the words and he takes a step forward but she waves him away, swallowing and closing her mouth. 

“She’s bewitched you,” Hook says as awareness dawns, and the servant girl shakes her head. 

“More like bespelled, to be a bit more specific,” she replies with a sad smile.  “Cursed, perhaps.  I cannot speak his name, or hers, lest I use them to my advantage.”

Hook frowns.  “His name?”

The servant girl nods.  “Yes – the Dark One before our current mistress.”  She does not seem angry, but rather sad and resigned, which is strange where the Crocodile is concerned (Hook has never met anyone who has spoken well of the bastard). 

“Did you work for him?” he asks, carefully.

The servant girl gives him a sad smile.  “I loved him, and I was his wife.”

 

…

 

Her name, as it turns out, is Belle.  She was taken from her family during the Ogre War as payment for ending the hostilities.  As his captive, she fell in love with her captor (it is strange for Hook to find someone who loved the beast, but it is also strange for him to live in a castle).

Belle is a natural storyteller, and her story spans the course of several meetings, usually when the Dark One has been called away.  On the occasions when the Dark One is present, Hook never sees Belle in the library. 

He tells her as much the next time that the Dark One leaves.

Belle shrugs her shoulders (something she does often) and merely replies, “I do not feel safe outside of the kitchen when she is here.”

“But why?” Hook asks, and Belle simply closes her mouth shakes her head, implying either that she cannot speak of it, or will not.  He changes the topic.

“So this was your castle once,” he comments, and Belle nods.

“We wintered here,” she tells him, “and spent summers in the other castle.  That was where – “  She stops, glancing up at him, before pursing her lips.  She inhales sharply, then exhales.

“Have you ever done an experiment?” she asks, “just to see if something will happen?”

Hook starts to shake his head, then nods.  He’s been known to test the boundaries of things before, but perhaps not in such a way that she is implying. 

“There was a book I read once, from another realm that spoke of experiments and something called science, and I found it fascinating,” she waves her hands, “I want to try something.”  She pauses, levels her gaze at Hook. “I was there when the Darkness left my love and entered its new vessel.”

It takes Hook a moment to catch on to what she means.  When he does, he is surprised.

“You were there?" 

Belle nods.  “I was.  It all happened very fast – really, it was foolish of him to – “

But then there’s a change in the air (charged, like before a storm).  Belle shudders.

“She has returned,” she says.  “I must go." 

Hook is left, unsatisfied save for the fact that apparently the Crocodile’s foolishness led to his death, but as he leaves the library himself he realizes how utterly unsatisfying that knowledge is as well (all men are foolish; he did not believe the Crocodile was a man). 

The Dark One invites him to dine with her that night.

At first, it is awkward.  He has been used to dining alone but he is escorted by Robin to the ornate dining room, where candles burn low in their scones and their light reflects across the crystal goblets, across the silver cutlery and across her face. She is less frightening tonight, and he wonders if her recent trip has been successful. 

He asks as much.

“For me, yes,” is her response, “for them, not so much.” 

Dinner is served by both Robin and Belle, and conversation ends for the moment before Hook struggles to come up with a response. 

Instead, he takes a sip of the (very fine) wine that is before him, and says very little at all.

 

…

 

The next time he sees Belle, he asks her to tell him more for he has an idea of what she is trying to do – to speak around the spell, to communicate her story without fear of being silenced.

“It all happened quickly,” Belle tells him.  “A foolish decision, to take the son of the queen’s lover as leverage against her.”

The story goes: Regina had angered the Dark One, and so he seized the teenage son of her widowed lover as a hostage until Regina amended what she had done.  Belle is vague on the details, but she describes the confrontation, the events leading up to the outcome they all expect, but she slips and chokes on her love’s name.

Hook cannot imagine being unable to utter Milah’s name as a source of comfort and of remembrance, and as horrible and awful as the Crocodile was, the pain in Belle’s face makes him angry.

The Dark One returns shortly thereafter, and Belle flees to the kitchen when unshed tears in her eyes while Hook seeks to find his captor.  He does not go into the tallest tower or the lowest dungeon, but instead returns to the room where they first talked, wondering if she will be there or if he will have to summon her.

Her name is ready on his lips when he enters to find the room half in shadow, with the Dark One looking out the window at the sea.  His footfalls, light as they are, still capture her attention and he can see her back straighten in the half-light, can see her spine become more rigid, and her stance return to that of the Dark One (though in that moment he wonders who she was before, that she is so different to him now).

“Speak,” she commands, and even though he is unsure, he remembers Belle’s unshed tears and it propels him forward/

“You have prevented Belle from speaking her love’s name,” he says. 

“That I did,” she admits.

“That is cruel.”  Hook realizes as he says this that his anger sounds weak in this large space, and he wonders if maybe it is -

The Dark One laughs.  “Am I not cruel?” she asks, but there is no venom in her tone.  Instead, she sounds resigned.  “Am I not a monster?  If I am, how can you expect more from me?”

Hook takes a deep breath.  “I was no fan of the previous holder of your title but that does not mean that those who loved him cannot mourn his loss.  What ill will can he do to you now that he is dead? You are the Dark One.  He cannot harm you.”

There is a long, loaded pause after Hook makes this claim, and he can see her shoulders slump.   It is strange, this obvious display of weakness and yet he knows that it is not because of him – or, if it is, his words have just been another turn of the knife into her gut.

Whatever is going on his larger than him, and he finds himself strangely concerned.

“You’re right.”

Hook frowns.  “I am?” he says automatically, because this was almost too easy.

The Dark One sighs.  “You’re right - there’s no reason that Belle cannot speak Rumplestiltskin’s name.  He can’t hurt me anymore when he’s dead.  I will remove that part of the curse from her.”

It goes without saying that she will not remove the part of the curse where Belle cannot speak the Dark One’s name.  Hook feels the need to acknowledge this benevolence, because it sounds like it has come at some great cost.

“Thank you,” he says, then adds, “Emma.”

When the Dark One turns to face him, it is with a face that lacks the haughty look she usually wears when dealing with him.  It is a face that is vulnerable, with eyes swollen from tears and lips that are thin and drawn.  She does not look like the Dark One that he has come to know.

She looks like a young girl, and it makes him profoundly uncomfortable.

“You’re welcome, Killian,” is her response, before walking outside, skin glittering in the mid-day sun (she burn so bright that she hurts his eyes, and he must look away).

 

 …

 

Belle finds him in his quarters the next day.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” she says, closing the door behind her.  Hook places the book he was reading back on the table.

“It was the right thing to do,” he tells her.  “I know what it’s like to mourn a love that has been taken from you.”

(The smile on Belle’s face makes it easier to leave out the fact that her love stole his from him.) 

“I knew her, before all of this,” Belle starts to say, sitting down on the other chair.  “When she was just a girl.  She was spoiled – so spoiled, but that’s to be expected.  Step-granddaughter of the Queen, taken from her parents, raised by Regina…” 

“Step-granddaughter?” Hook asks, clarifying.  He had forgotten the tangled web of royal marriages, but this is brand new information.

“Regina married Snow White’s father." 

“Why did she take her?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Belle remarks.  “Revenge.” 

As Belle weaves her tale, Hook is able to piece together that Snow White committed some great crime against Regina, and her revenge was to steal Snow White’s only child.  That she raised the girl to be an impulsive brat with a soft side for Roland, the son of Regina’s lover Robin _(oh_ ) and that something happened to Roland which made Emma into the Dark One.  When Belle tries to be more specific, it becomes apparent that the sequence of events that led up to the Crocodile’s death have also been blocked from leaving her lips.

After Belle leaves, Hook processes all that he has heard, trying to piece together the various parts in such a way that they make sense to him.  There are many gaps – why Regina hated Snow White, why the Dark One would protect Roland, what Rumplestiltskin would do with Roland to begin with – but a picture is emerging and it looks nothing like what Hook expected. 

Once again, the Dark One invites him to dine with her.

They eat in silence for some time before she asks him questions – about his ship, and about his travels.  Once he talks about the realms he’s been to, it’s easier for them to converse as she travels widely as well, and they have things to discuss.  It is simpler, too, to not have to answer pointless small talk, or provide witty comments for everything that she says.  It’s almost a reprieve to not have to be on his guard or just try to be as witty or charming as possible (he’s so used to wearing the mask of the pirate captain that letting it slip, just for once, is refreshing). 

He says as much, towards the end of the meal as their plates are being cleared away.

“Thank you for the lovely conversation,” he remarks, and he means it. 

A small smile flitters across the Dark One’s face and she looks down.  “It was a pleasant diversion,” she replies, and he can see that she is not used to receiving kind words.

What he says next surprises him, because it comes unbidden but the words ring true.  “You’re not a monster, you know.” 

The Dark One looks up, surprised, lip quivering and eyes so wide, so very bright, before she looks away and disappears.

It takes Hook a moment to realize that she is gone as the smoke dissipates throughout the room, and her suddenly departure does little to bother him. 

What does bother him is the way that he felt as he listened to her stories:  nervous and excited and exhilarated all at once. It’s a feeling that he hasn’t felt around anyone in some time (he refuses to think about the last time, the last person, he felt that way with).

 

…

 

Spring turns to summer, and Hook changes. 

He does not need his leathers, and so he trades in his breeches for soft pants and shirts and a vest.  He feels strange – unguarded, just a bit lost, like he has left his armor behind as he went off to battle – but the fabric is soft against his skin and he likes the cut of the vest and jacket, the way that the brown boots beside the wardrobe are so nicely polished.

(Perhaps change will be a good thing.)

 

…

 

One day, a man appears outside the castle.   He calls for Hook.

 

“Do not answer him,” Robin warns, “for it may be a trap.” 

Hook does not ask what that means, for who could possibly set a trap at the Dark One’s castle, but he also does not answer.

The man returns the next day.

“Do not answer him,” Belle cautions, “for it may not be safe.” 

Hook does not ask if there is a place where he could be more safe than where he is right now, behind walls fortified by magic, but he also does not answer.

The man returns for a third day, and this time Hook goes alone.

“Smee?” he asks, recognizing his first mate immediately.  “Why are you here?" 

“Blackbeard!” is all that Hook can make out against the roaring of the ocean and the crying of the gulls.  He turns to Belle and Robin.

“The Dark One is here – let her bring him in, and question him,” he says, more of a command than a request, but if Smee has found him and Blackbeard is involved, then it probably involves his ship and he finds himself sliding into the role of captain far too easily.

The Dark One obliges immediately, and brings Smee into the large hall where she first brought Hook.  Smee is terrified, darting glances between Hook and the Dark One, uncertain of what to do, but she takes control of the conversation quickly. 

“You’ve come to my castle asking for my prisoner,” the Dark One starts, pacing around the room (Hook can now see that this is a form of intimidation, that all of this is for show).    “What could _you_ possible want with _him_?”

“Blackbeard,” he says, “your ship, Captain.  Blackbeard seized the Jolly Roger.”  The man’s eyes are wide with panic, and upon close observation there is a scar across his cheek, and he walks with a slight limp as he hobbles towards Hook.

Hook’s blood runs cold, and his mouth goes dry.  He clenches his fist, torn between panic (his ship) and anger (his ship!). 

“I thought I had told you to take care of her,” he tells Smee, anger barely held in check ( _not his ship, anything but his ship_ ) and Smee cowers. 

“I did, but he had more men, and we lost some of ours, and – “

Hook sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose.  He will not be able to retrieve his ship with fewer men than Blackbeard.  He will not be able to retrieve his ship trapped in this castle.  He will not be able to get his ship back, and that is a pain that sinks deep into his heart.

“What are you going to do, Captain?” Smee asks.

Hook sighs again.  “Not much of anything, Smee, unless you can find me men,” he admits through clenched teeth.

“Do you want your ship back?”

The Dark One’s voice sounds small, but he can tell just by looking at her that she is earnest in this request.  Things have changed between them, and she is easier to read, and far less intimidating, and he knows that if he asks, she will do it (and that knowledge is a fearsome, fearsome thing).

“I don’t suppose you have an armada,” Hook says, fully aware of the ridiculousness of such a request and yet -

Her answering smile speaks volumes.


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no update, one more chapter and an epilogue to go.

The sea at midday is surprisingly calm as their vessel moves across the water with unnatural speed.  There is a ship on the horizon – just a speck, a mere pinprick, but they will gain on it soon enough. 

Hook had missed this: the tang of salt and the _whoosh_ of a ship across the waves, the warmth of the sun against his face and the wind at his back.  He had missed the anticipation that comes before a fight.  There is no fear, no dread in his bones.  Hook stands firm on the deck knowing that he will get back his ship today ( _he needs her, he doesn’t feel right without her, without his ship -_ )

Something shifts beside him, and he turns his attention away from the horizon and to the quarterdeck.

She is fierce, the Dark One, standing behind the wheel which moves of its own accord, making slight adjustments to their course every now and then.  She wears black leather and a magnificent cloak of black feathers that fans out with the breeze.  Her pale skin shines like diamonds in the midday sun.

  
She is utterly terrifying in her radiance, but not nearly as terrifying as the shadow creatures that populate the deck of this ship, shifting between some vaguely human shape and that of nothingness.  There are no discernable features – no eyes or mouth, only barely-formed limbs – and Hook looks away as chills run down his spine.  

He is grateful for the help that she will provide him, just as he is grateful that he will be reunited with the Jolly Roger, but he wonders about the hidden cost that is inherent in dealing with the Dark One. 

It was her suggestion to sail with a shadow fleet full of abominable creations that make Smee and the other remaining members of Hook’s crew uneasy.  There is only one physical ship, but there are ghosts of others behind it, mere whispers of smoke and air but meant to scare Blackbeard’s men into abandoning him.

It is a good plan.  It is a better plan when she tells him that she will go along as well.

“What price?” he asked, once Smee left to bring the crew (staying in town, more interested in ale than their captain) to the castle.  “What price must I pay?”

The Dark One stared at him, confused, and he watched as she opened her mouth then closed it again, struggling for words.  

“There is no price,” she finally told him.  “This is not a favor.  That man stole your ship - this is _justice_.”

As they grow nearer and nearer, he can make out the lines of his ship more clearly and there is a pang in his heart as he thinks about what he will do once he gets her back.  He knows that Smee expect him to leave the captivity of the Dark One – to be a pirate, and act like a pirate does.  But the Dark One has raised an armada to retrieve the Jolly Roger.  He cannot leave without her blessing.  He will not leave until she tells him he is free to go.

The closer they come, the more apparent it is that the Dark One’s plan has mostly worked.  There are dark shapes jumping into the water, but there are many more that still cluster on the deck, around their captain (he wonders how much gold Blackbeard has given them that they are so loyal to such a bastard). 

He turns to the Dark One once more only to find her beside him.  Her hand rests on a sword that he had not seen earlier, hidden under the layers of her great cloak.

“Not many,” she says.  “Do you want them killed or taken alive?”

 Her question gives Hook pause.  He had not thought about taking them alive.

“Keep the men alive.  For a bit of coin, they may be persuaded to find a new line of work.” He pauses, meets her eyes.  “Leave Blackbeard to me.”

The Dark One nods and steps back.  With a gesture of her hand, she indicates that he should begin prepping the boarding party.

Hook takes a step forward, takes a deep breath.  “All right, you scurvy seadogs – “

 

…

 

At this point in the story, the storyteller will ask for a glass of water to soothe their parched throat, or perhaps a bit of bread to fill their growling belly (they have been telling this tale for some time, after all).  This is meant to draw tension back like a bow, and to let the story snap forward once they are ready.

Remember that, the next time you sit down at a storyteller’s feet to listen a spell.  

 

…

 

It is also over as quickly as it begins, or so it feels for Hook.  One moment he has Blackbeard on the plank, the next there is blood in the water.  The men have come to his side fairly easily (he thinks he has the shadows to thank for that).

He has his ship back.

He lets out a yell of victory only to have it echoed by his men, and soon he is being cheered along _.  Captain Hook_ , they cry out.  _Captain Hook!_

He glances around the deck for the Dark One, and spots her not that far away.  She is smiling at him, a wide grin that seems genuine (he has never seen her smile like this).  Caught up in the moment, he crosses the ship towards her and reaches out, resting his hand on her shoulder. 

“We did it,” he tells her, and she grins for a moment longer before she realizes that his hand is on her – before he realizes that he is holding her.

The Dark One jerks herself back as if burned.  A look of confusion crosses her face before she raises her hand and, with a gesture, disappears in a swirl of grey smoke.  She is gone before Hook even realizes it, and when he turns around he finds that she has taken her shadow fleet and her shadow warriors with her.

He is alone, in open water, with his men and his ship.

It is immediately obvious to him that there is a chance that he is now a free man, but there is a better chance that this is a test – that the Dark One has not really set him free, not when keeping him in her castle means that he cannot fulfill her parents’ task, and if he seizes this freedom he will surely pay for it later.

(Something else is immediately obvious too, though he has trouble comprehending it: he is not ready to be free, not yet, not when there are so many things left that trouble him where the Dark One is concerned.)

“Captain,” Smee says, “where shall we go?”

“Back to the harbor,” Hook responds, a plan quickly forming in his mind.  As he expects, his first mate protests.

“But the Dark One has freed you,” Smee presses, “and we’re pirates.”

Hook places his arm around Smee, pulling him closer a bit with a large amount of force that knocks Smee off his feet as it is intended to (he cannot let the man be on solid footing, he must keep him on his toes…).

“You’re right, Smee, we are pirates – and I take it you saw just a bit of the riches to be found in the castle…” Hook says, trailing off, waiting for Smee to catch on. 

Smee gulps, nods.  The castle is ostentatious enough but the room where Smee met the Dark One contained crystal goblets and chandeliers clearly made with precious stones, golden plates and golden threaded silk. 

“The castles holds the treasures of all of the Dark Ones,” Hook continues.  “I doubt the current one would miss much were I to relieve her of some.” 

Smee’s eyes grow wide. “Robbing the Dark One?” he asks, before a grin breaks out across his face.  “You’re the bravest pirate I know, Captain!”

He sends Smee to tell the others that they will be lingering in the harbor, guarding the ship and waiting for his signal that he has stolen what he wants.  It is an acceptable lie, one that doesn’t reveal anything about Hook’s true purpose, one that makes him sound like the pirate captain the men (presumably) respect (it’s the things left unsaid in the lie that make him clench his jaw and look eagerly out across the horizon).

…

 

He touched her.

The pirate touched her.

No one has touched her for so long (no one has touched her in this state).

When she was a child, Regina was always affectionate – a hand on her shoulder, fingers run through her curls, a kiss on her brow.  But no one has touched her since she became the Dark One (she does not count the men and women who throw themselves at her feet, begging her to help them, reaching - )

She does not know how to react.  She feels cold and hot and nervous and exhilarated and everything at once, so many feelings that come rushing towards her like a wave breaking on the beach and she – she is caught in the undertow.

  
What she does know is that she wants him.

The want coils inside her, new and unbidden, as she storms her way to the tallest tower (she races up the stairs, her body alive in a way that it never is, not with the magic nor the Darkness nor anything else - ) and slams the door open.  She paces across the floor, back and forth from bookshelf to table and back again.   There are herbs hanging from the ceiling to dry and she stirs them with her movements.  She is on fire.  She has never felt so alive.  

_He touched you,_ her body sings. _He touched you._

She has thought of him, her handsome pirate captive, on the nights when she cannot sleep – has brushed her hands against her body and thought of his hand instead, has wondered if he tastes like the rum that he drinks like water (does he, though? She has not seen his flask in some time…), wonders if he would take his time with her as inexperienced as she is or would things be different?

She wants him, in a way that she has never wanted anyone else and it frightens her with its intensity.  He is handsome, and he is unafraid of her.  He has never recoiled from her; instead, she seems to interest him just enough that he leans in closer.

He gives her hope. 

_And you let him go,_ the Darkness sings back.  _You gave him his ship, and you let him go.  Who will touch you now?_

“No one,” whispers Emma, as the realization of what she has done sets in.  He is gone. 

She hears the Darkness laugh in the back of her mind but she realizes that it is right: she has let him go.  Overwhelmed with emotions at the feel of his hand on her arm, she left him with his crew and his ship.

He is a pirate.  He will assume that he has been released.  He will go about his business, and she may very well never cross paths with him again (at least, probably not under pleasant circumstances).

The emotions that had carried her away suddenly threaten to drown her with their intensity, and she finds her energy gone, her strength lost.  She crumbles to the ground, her feathered cloak billowing out around her (she had felt so powerful when she wrapped it around her shoulders but now she feels so weak, so very lost).

She didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Perhaps this is better.  She’s never known how to say goodbye.

 

…

 

When he returns to the castle, it is dark and cold.

Hook has left his ship in the dock, and climbed the hill with little interference (he remembers the first time, the struggle, the magic she used to tease him, and his heart begins to race).  He has knocked on the door, and been let in by Belle, who seems happy to see him again.

Neither of them speak about his return. 

It is summer outside, and the town is celebrating with festivals and with frivolity but here in the castle Belle shivers, pulling her shawl tighter around herself. 

“She’s not here,” Belle tells him, “but I’ll put the kettle on.”

Hook sits with her in the kitchen, doesn’t say anything as she pours tea for them both, as she sets out the cream and sugar and some sweet cakes.  Robin wanders into the kitchen and if he is surprised to see Hook, he does not say so.  Much like Belle, he welcomes him back with a smile and nod as he takes his seat at the table.

Hook’s mind drifts back to this ship, moored in the harbor, his crew with their orders to stay and wait for him.  He had given Smee an indefinite timeline (“It will take some time to arrange the removal of such priceless artifacts”) and he hopes that the men will not get other ideas.  He picks at his cake, sips his tea, and wonders if he should have found a way to keep better track of his men.

(What he does not wonder is whether he should have come back.)

The kitchen is merry, with a roaring fire, and as Robin and Belle makes polite conversation about the chores of the household, Hook wonders why it is so cold here.  He does not remember it being like this.

He asks as much.

Robin and Belle look at each other briefly before Robin responds, “There has been much on her mind lately.”

Belle nods.  “She has kept to herself, in the tallest tower.  We have seen very little of her.”

Robin takes him to the garden, to the trees which Hook now realizes bloom out of season.  The cherry trees in the orchard are still heavy with fruit, but so are the apples and the pears, and there are citrus trees here as well. What he had taken for granted earlier as merely a part of the castle is now the epitome of the Dark One and her whims, and he can’t help but smile.

(That does not explain why the castle is so cold.)

Robin leaves him to his musings, staring at the sea.  The longing for the ocean is still there, but less intense now that he has been on his ship again.  He can see her in the harbor below. 

He needs to finish what he came here to do. 

“Emma,” he says softly, staring out at the ocean.  He closes his eyes.  “Emma.”  Then, a third time.  “ _Emma_.”

There is a breeze across his face, and when he opens his eyes she is standing before him.  There is a look of utter shock on her face, and she takes a step backwards.  She opens and closes her mouth before saying, “I left you at sea.”

Hook shrugs, feigning nonchalance, his heart pounding in his chest (can she hear it? Can she sense how nervous he really is?). “I realized I had some unfinished business here.”

The Dark One draws in a quick breath, and seems to steady herself.   “Your ship is in the harbor,” she says, turning away from him and walking to the garden wall.  “Your men wait for you.” 

“They’ll wait until I’m done.” 

She glances back over her shoulder before waving her hand out over the water.  “They will wait until you’re done,” she repeats, but he knows that she means more than that, and he wants to thank her but his legs feel a bit shaky, seeing her here.  _She_ seems a bit shaky, this Dark One, caught off guard by his return.

“Why did you return?” she asks, looking at him and then away, and he wants to tell her the truth.  He wants to tell her everything, let there be no lies between them (it is good to see her, he realizes in his soul).

Hook pushes that aside, smiles his best smile.  “Well, your highness, we still have your parents to take care of, don’t we?”

 

…

 

Emma is surprised at how happy she is when the pirate returns.   

She knows now that she was being melodramatic (she did learn from the best, after all).  Listening to the darkness is one thing but cloaking herself in coldness and shadows, hiding from Robin and Belle, not to mention the deals she brokered, the concessions that she had others make while they begged at her feet… 

And then he called her name.

She was hesitant, at first – she barely knows where the call will take her, only who is calling – and she thought that he would use her apparent weakness towards him against her (it is not unheard of that someone with intimate knowledge of the Dark One would take advantage of them).  

But that is not the case, not with him, and she is happy.

He claims that he is here to help with her parents, but she has always been able to see through lies, and there is something hidden in his words that she can’t decipher (she knows what he has told his crew and she knows that he will not actually rob her).   

“Are you sure?” Robin asks, as soon as Belle shows Killian back to his room.  “Are you sure this is safe?”

“As sure as I can be,” she responds, because it is impossible to put into words the feeling that she has which tells her that Hook will not harm her. 

And now that he has returned, they get to work.

They spend time in the library, tracing the routes between the castle and Regina’s and where her parents are.  They talk about strategy – to strike outright, or to use subterfuge.  Nothing is beyond her power, but Emma is coming to realize that it is harder to actually kill her parents than to talk about it.

 She has spent her entire life thinking ill of the people whose blood runs in her veins, but if she could not kill Regina, she is not sure how she could kill them regardless of how they feel about her.   This newfound uncertainty makes her unsteady, and she is worried it makes her weak.

One thing is true, however, and that is how easy she finds it to stand beside him and talk plans, to invite him to supper and to watch him across the table.  It is easy to watch him drink, to follow the lines of his neck with her eyes, to study the skin he exposes so easily that it must be a trap. 

It occurs to Emma that, at any moment, she could very easily make him love her.  With a flick of her wrist he could make him her love-sick puppy trailing behind her with wide-eyes, eager to do her bidding. 

It is a temping thought, but she turns away from it. There is nothing to be gained from such magic.  If he is to come to want her, Emma decides, then it must be his choice.  There must be no trickery or sleight of hand involved.  

It is more than just lust, she realizes as they dine together one evening (they dine together most evenings now, when she is here).  He has been telling her some story of great adventure and she has been listening, as she always does, with rapt attention, to every word he speaks. 

She has left her wine untouched, is resting her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in one hand (she can practically hear Regina scolding her but she ignores it, because this is her castle, and her rules).

She enjoys this time together, the quiet at the end of the day, the way that the sunbeams scatter across the table and bounce off their glasses of wine.  Emma has always liked twilight, and she enjoys it more with him (she enjoys all of their time together, but there’s something about the way that his eyes light up when he shares stories with her that makes her feel warm inside).  He has started to move his chair closer to her, sliding it each day from the far side of the table to where she could touch him if she reaches out (Belle and Robin caught on, and started to serve him beside her, and she rewards their attention to detail with a fine feast of their own after supper is served).

When they are at table together, just the two of them, she likes it: he makes her feel vulnerable, and she’s finding that she doesn’t mind.

“What about your life?” Hook asks, ending his story and taking a sip of his wine.  “Any daring adventures in the life of the princess?”

Emma shifts, breaking her pose and stretching (she thinks she sees his eyes follow her movements but she remembers he is a pirate, and he is just being alert – there is nothing else) before sinking back into her ornate chair.

“I ran away once,” she tells him, “stole Regina’s finest horse and packed all of the cakes from tea in a handkerchief.” It was not her finest hour, this botched attempt at an escape, and when Hook raises an eyebrow, Emma sighs.

“I didn’t like that my tutor wanted me to do sums that day instead of letting me read,” she says, answering his unspoken question.  “I was eight.”

He smiles, and it is so bright in this dimly-lit space.  “I can see it – the young princess, being chased down by the Queen’s best men, her little bag of treats tied to her waist.”  

He is poking fun at her, and normally this would make Emma angry, but she cannot find it in her to be annoyed.  Instead, she finds it endearing, especially as he leans in towards her, arm across the table, and she leans in as well. 

“It was a sight – and it was one guard, and three hounds.”  She smiles.  “I threw the cakes at the dogs.  They were sick for a week, and Regina was beside herself.  They made a full recovery, but I was not allowed cakes for tea for some time after that.”

Hook smiles at her, and she smiles back, and there is a sharp pang in her chest when she notices how he looks at her – not with fear, but with reverence, with softness that no one has ever had, then or now.  But it is more than that – a thousand conflicting emotions spiraling around her and one above all else.

She may love this man – this pirate.  But if he to come to love her in return, Emma decides, then it must be his choice (who could ever learn to love someone like her?)

 

…

 

Things change.

The Dark One changes.

It is subtle at first – so subtle that Hook almost misses it but he has always been perceptive.

It starts with her clothing: in the days since his return, over the weeks that they plan, she begins to trade her leather and skins for soft breeches and silken shirts.  She begins to wear her hair differently, in more intricate styles that allow for stray tendrils to escape and frame her face.  Her lips are still as red as blood but her eyes are softer, open in a way that they were not earlier. 

Something has changed between them (something has changed inside him).

They are in the library one day, and she wears a flowing dress of the darkest blue that he has ever seen, and her hair is escaping the intricate crown of braids that Belle had done that morning and he wants nothing more than to touch it – to wrap a tendril around his finger, to see if it really is as pure gold as it looks.  He wants to touch her skin, which shimmers so lovely in the daylight and the candlelight, and see if it is as cold as a diamond (he has always wanted forbidden jewels). 

The urge consumes him and so he steps away, walking to the window, inhales the salt air that blows in from the sea (he still feels the ocean in his blood but it is fainter now, more of an echo than a call).  He leans against the pillar, feels the warm breeze on his shirt sleeves (he, too, has changed, into browns and golds and reds instead of black leather) and closes his eyes.

The Dark One is waking feelings within him that he never thought he would feel again – not since his Milah, not since he watched her body slip under the waves.  It is complicated (she is the Dark One) but it is not (she is also Emma) and he has seen how the duality within her is constantly at odds.  

“Is everything all right?” Her voices carries across the room, and when he turns around she is still standing at the table, her hands on a map, her brow furrowed.  In this moment she is less the Dark One, and more Emma, and he finds that it is difficult to pull his attention back to the task at hand now that he is aware of himself.

The feelings grow each day, as he spends more time with Emma, as everything about her shifts.  She wears dresses of luxe, soft fabrics that he aches to touch, and there is something about the curve of her neck, the flutter of her eyelashes as she reads a map, that makes his pulse race.  He dreams about her, wakes with her name on his lips, wonders what would happen if he says it three times (would she come? Would she stay?).

They eat supper together every night, drink wine and tell each other stories, and if he pulls his chair closer to her, and if she leans in, and if he finds her stories of her childhood fascinating, then that is his burden to bear.

One night, they take a walk in the garden, and watch the stars, and he tells her of learning to read them with Liam (he must sound choked when he speaks of his brother, because she does something surprising: she tells him her own story).

She sits on a bench near the wall, and Hook sits beside her.

“I had a brother – well, as near a brother as could be,” Emma says softly. “Robin’s son, Roland.  Robin managed the estates at Regina’s palace.  Roland was my age, and we often played together.  In fact, it was when I broke my arm climbing trees with him that Regina and Robin truly met.”  Emma laughs.  “We often joked that my injury brought them together.  And we became a family, in a way – a strange family, but we were happy.” 

There is a pause, and Hook waits.  He knows parts of this story from Belle, but not all of it, and for her to tell him this – how she became the Dark One – is so great a gift that he is speechless (his hand twitches, wanting to reach for her, wanting to hold her hands in his ).  

“Robin’s son is not here,” he says finally.

“No,” Emma responds.  “He is not.” 

They sit in silence, and then, “Rumplestiltskin was angry at Regina for something relatively minor – petty, really – but he reacted in the only way he knew how: he came to the palace and he threatened Roland’s life.”  Emma pauses.  “And when Regina did not capitulate, he killed him.” 

He can feel her tense beside him, can feel her body sway on the bench and he reaches out, places his hand on her own, because he does not need to know the rest.  He knows that she reacted and he knows her fate, and he cannot fault her for such a strong show of emotions (he has done the same).

Emma jolts when he places his hand on hers, and when she turns to him, there are tears in her eyes and her lip quivers, and he wants to reach out and touch her, to stroke his fingers against her forehead and to comfort her, to tell her that he understands, that he will always understand how love can make people do what they always considered impossible.

“Killian,” she says, breathing out his name, and it is like music to his ears, and he is so close, he can feel her breath against his lips -

She pulls away and is gone, and when he looks up she is across the garden, under the fruit trees.

“Robin,” she says, and with a wave of her hand the gardener materializes, somewhat surprised (Killian is surprised too, still focused on the desire to kiss her).   She walks over to him, long black dress trailing behind her across the grass, and Killian stands to join them.

“It is time,” she says softly.  “I want you, and Killian, to go to the Evil Queen’s palace.” 

There is a look of fear that crosses Robin’s face which is quickly gone when Emma continues.  “Fetch Regina, and bring her here.  You have been separated for too long.”

Robin blinks, and glances at Hook before nodding, and if he is at all surprised by the turn of events, he does not say anything.

“I’ll ready the horses,” he says before quickly turning and practically sprinting from the garden.

That leaves the two of them in the garden, alone, the air heavy with all the words that Killian has not yet spoken, and which Emma has not said.  There is a slight breeze, which ruffles the leaves of the tree above them, and shifts Emma’s skirts just slightly so that they brush against him. 

“Killian,” she says, and he turns towards her.  He is uncertain of what to say – that he wanted to kiss her? That he wants to comfort her? That he has found himself drawn to her, regardless of what she thinks she is and because of who she is beneath the curse, beneath it all?

“Keep him safe,” she asks, and then she is gone, melting into the night, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the sound of the crickets, the sway of the trees and the feeling of loss that comes when there are no words for how you feel.


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, and then an epilogue coming later this week. Thanks for sticking with me. I really hope you enjoy this.

 

The castle is quiet without him. 

It is not the same sort of quiet as before, when she thought he would not return – when she thought he was lost to her forever.  There were flickers of him in the corners of her vision, and a nothingness in the space he once occupied, and the Darkness twisted inside of her, reminding her of her foolishness.

Now, she is restless, for this is a different kind of quiet: the calm before the storm, deep breath before the plunge, the moment between the beginning and the end.

He wanted to kiss her.

She wanted to let him.

Emma paces the halls, fingers brushing the cool stone, tapping listless rhythms against the ancient walls.  She paces, and she fidgets, and the Darkness inside of her coils in on itself.  Belle smirks at her when they cross paths, and shakes her head and it does not bother Emma, because she knows she is obvious.

She knows that she loves him. 

She loves the pirate.

And when he returns, she will let him kiss her.

She smiles as she drums her fingers on the balustrade, and looks north, to the forest where Regina’s castle stands. 

_She will let him kiss her._

The thought makes her smile.

 

…

 

The journey to the Queen’s castle is not challenging; with the long days of late summer still stretching out before them, Robin and Hook make good time, stopping when needed to water the horses and stretch their legs.  It has been years since Hook has spent time traveling leisurely through the Enchanted Forest (he was single-minded when he returned from Neverland and it is different, now, when there is no Dark One to find and kill, when the only task at hand is to reunite two lovers). 

On the first night, as they sit around their small fire, Hook catches a look in Robin’s eyes that he reads, first, as fear, but later wonders if it is not longing mixed with something else that he cannot identify but which feels familiar all the same.  They do not talk much, and go to sleep early so that they can break camp at dawn. 

On the second night, Hook decides to make conversation.  He picks an easy topic, and one which has intrigued him for some time: how Regina came to find herself a prisoner in her own home.  

“How did Queen Regina come to find herself trapped in her castle? Did she offend the Dark One?” Hook asks, biting into an apple that Belle had packed for them.  He washes it down with some ale, and waits for the response.

“I suppose you could say that,” Robin replies.  “At first, after she absorbed the darkness, Emma seemed the same girl I always knew.  She looked different, but that is to be expected with such dark power.  It was only over time that she changed into something else entirely, and that creature had very thin skin.”

But he says no more, either because he cannot or because he chooses not (but as he lays down to sleep, Killian remembers that unlike Belle, Robin has never indicated that he had been cursed). 

On the third night, Hook asks another question about the queen.

“And what did your queen do to provoke such wrath?” Hook presses, and waits as Robin debates if he should answer.

He does, in time.  “I do not excuse what Regina has done, but I did not know that woman.  The woman I knew loved Emma like her own flesh and blood.” He swallows a sip of ale.  “She did not want Emma to be the Dark One and she took actions to ensure that Emma did not suffer that fate.”

“So she would have put her down like a dog?” Hook asks, feeling anger rise in his chest, but Robin shakes his head, raises his hand.

“No, not at all – she sought to destroy the power of the Darkness forever.”

“That does not sound like an easy task,” Hook remarks.

“It’s not.”   Robin does not look at Killian, only glances into the fire. “I don’t know all of the details, but Regina found a way to separate the power from the person.  But Emma did not know Regina’s intentions.  I’m still not sure that she fully understands the details even now that she is so powerful – or, if she does, she does not choose to admit it.”

The conversation, taking a turn that Killian did not anticipate, is nonetheless intriguing, and he wants to know more.

“What do you know?” he asks, surprised by the intensity of his voice when he speak (if Robin seems surprised, he does not show it).

“It’s a curse – greater than most, but nonetheless a curse, which means that there are ways to break it.”

“Poison,” Hook says, remembering the dreamshade, remembering his goal, and Robin nods.

“The death of the Dark One, and capturing the Darkness in some kind of vessel would be one way.”

“And what happens when the Dark One dies?” Hook asks. 

“From there I understand less of the details, only that Regina believed she had a way to save Emma, and rid the world of the Darkness once and for all.” 

Robin falls silent, and Hook wonders if he is thinking the same thing that Robin is: perhaps Regina could still save Emma.  Perhaps there is still a way to banish the Darkness forever.

(But, as he goes to sleep, he wonders if Emma would be different if she was not the Dark One, and if he would still feel like he does - like he can’t breathe, for the fire of her glory has stolen all the air from his lungs.  He would die on his knees for her, that much he knows, and he wonders if he would still feel the same if she became once again the princess she was, and not the woman she is.)

…

 

The reunion between Robin and his love is touching, though (like all things involving the Evil Queen) there is, however briefly, the fear of impending death.

The walk up to the Queen’s castle is quiet, and Hook can see the tension in Robin’s jaw as he surveys the dead and dying gardens, the corpses of flowers and trees and plants he must have carefully tended once, before the Darkness invaded their lives.

“There used to be rosebushes over there,” Robin says, pointing, “and they grew on a trellis that lead to the back garden.  There were flowers all along this walk.” 

He trails off, and Hook pats his shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring manner (it’s been a long time since he has had to reassure someone).

“Perhaps, in the future, the Dark One will allow you to live here once more,” Hook says.

Robin nods. “Perhaps.”

The inside of the castle is anything but quiet.

The queen had clearly set up defenses since Hook’s arrival just a few short months ago.  The men are quickly met with, first, a barrage of crockery and cutlery, followed by an attack by the cleaning supplies of the household.  It is a strange assault, but considering the mental state of the prisoner, Hook is not that surprised.

Robin calls to the queen.  “Regina! Regina!”  He steps around broken pieces of fine china, sprinting up the stairs and deeper into the castle as he bats away a mop.   Hook follows.

Wardrobes line the long hall, and as they walk by, clothing launches itself into their path.   Hook slashes at an overly-ornate dress, listening as beads scatter across the floor.  

“It appears that we don’t need to be announced,” he calls to Robin, who is tearing through a pair of velvet trousers.

“Wait – these were mine!” he exclaims, and then turns to Hook.  “Enough with this madness.  Regina!”

With a puff of purple smoke, she appears, fireball in her hand.  Her eyes narrow when she spies them.

“Is this some kind of trick?” she yells, launching the fireball towards them, and Hook pulls Robin out of the way into a nearby corridor.

“Not a trick!” Hook yells.  “The Dark One has sent us to bring you to her.”

The hallway grows silent, and Hook dares to peak out. 

Regina is right in front of him, eyes narrowed, glaring at him.

“What are you doing here, pirate?” she sneers.  “Errand boy for my step-daughter? Or has the Dark One really sent you?”

“It’s real, Regina.”  Robin steps out from beside him. “It’s real.”

He reaches out for her, fingers brushing against her fraying silk sleeve.  Regina shudders, steps back, and there’s something about the movement – the retreat in fear – that reminds Hook of Emma when he has tried to reach for her. 

“Robin…”  her voice breaks, her eyes search his face for recognition and when she finds it, everything changes.  Her entire face shifts, her entire body changes, and she falls into Robin – or, perhaps, they fall into each other, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, arms holding each other in an embrace.

Hook turns away from the reunion, to give them privacy (and to choke back the feeling that seems to lodge in his throat when he sees their love, when he remembers what it is like to love someone so deeply).

“I’ll go see to the horses,” Hook says but neither Robin nor the queen seem to hear him or acknowledge what he says (they are so wrapped up in each other that nothing else exists).   He does not know how long they will take, what words need to be spoken to coax the queen to leave, but Hook is anxious to be on the road to the Dark One’s castle once more. 

He needs to see her, he knows.  No, he _yearns_ to see Emma, to see her face and her smile and to hear her laughter.  Four days without her has been too long.

The courtyard is still quiet as he crosses the cobblestones - too quiet, in retrospect, for the men are on him before he reaches the horses, and he feels the blow to his head and then darkness.

 

…

 

When Hook wakes, he is on a feather bed.  His hand slide across red brocade threaded with gold, and his eyes fix upon the canopy above him, which hangs with golden tassels and ornamentation.

It is unexpected, to say the least.   

He’s been captured before, imprisoned in dungeons and brigs and jail cells, but never brought to a bedchamber unshackled (his hands are free and his wrists are bare and while he no longer has his hook, he still has the brace on his arm).

It does not take him long to realize where he is: the palace of Snow White and Prince Charming. 

He shifts on the bed and attempts to stand but his legs are shaky and his head is pounding and he wonders how long he has been unconscious.  The room he is in is familiar, and he realizes that it is the same one he stayed in before, when he was a royal guest (he had not slept well the first few nights he was there, and had spent more hours than he cared to admit staring at the canopy above him, trying to remember Milah’s face, trying to figure out what to do next). 

It is clearly dusk, and Hook remembers that he and Robin had arrived at the Queen’s castle after mid-day.

There is the taste of something in his mouth – sickly sweet, not blood but something he recognizes as dreamwine, meant to keep him asleep.  Which means he had woken up at some point, but quickly slipped back into unconsciousness.  He does not remember any of it. 

They have gone to great lengths to bring him here (to keep him docile).

He knows that it is because he has reneged on their bargain (a bargain he made but never intended to keep because he has never been a hero).   He wonders just what they will do to punish him for not keeping his word.

Whatever it is, he will take the punishment gladly; he will not let them use him to hurt Emma.

It will be a matter of time until they come find him, and since they are royalty, he knows he must wait. He takes a seat in a gilded chair, and wonders about Robin and Regina.  Have they been taken prisoner too? Does Emma know? Or, perhaps…

He thinks back to the plans they crafted in the library (in his memory he thinks of the whisper of her dress against his pant leg, the desire to press his lips against the exposed skin under her collarbone, but also of her strength, her intelligence, her skill).  He remembers the carefully laid plans, the multiple attack routes, the shadow army that she commanded.

Capturing him may not provoke conflict, but capturing Regina and Robin might, and Emma had been ready to bring the fight to her parents, to end this before it truly began.

He wonders if that will happen. 

As it turns out, he has some time to wait.  No one arrives for him until well into the next morning.  There are two guards to bring him down to the banquet hall where he has been before, and where the prince and princess wait for him.  The prince stands when he sees Hook, whereas the princess remains seated, staring at her empty plate, finger playing with the rim of her goblet.

There is an air of victory to the prince that turns Hook’s stomach, that makes him want to lash out at the man because neither he nor his wife understand who Emma is, nor do they care to try.  He remembers the claims that they made in this room – the argument that Emma was ruined, that her taking on the mantle of the Dark One was just part of her corruption, the promise to keep her away from others –

His anger grows.

“I thought we had an arrangement, pirate,” the prince tells Hook, who stands between his two guards.

Hook raises an eyebrow and shrugs.  “Pirate,” he tells him, with practiced nonchalance.

This angers the prince, who gives a signal and while one guard grabs a hold of Hook, the other searches his person.  He looks through all the pockets of his jacket and his vest but comes up empty.  He turns to the prince in frustration.

Hook can’t help but smile.  “Looking for something, mate?” he asks, which does exactly as he expects: the prince becomes irate, and marches across the room to him, grabbing him by the collar.

“I know you returned from Neverland with the means to kill the Dark One,” he tells Hook.   “I also know you’re not the kind of person who would leave something so powerful behind.  Where is it?”

“I’ll never tell you,” Hook spits out.  “Emma’s not what you think she is.”

“You dare to speak her name?” the prince recoils in disgust.  “There is nothing of my daughter in that creature.  There is only darkness and evil – “

“Says the man that hasn’t seen his daughter in how many years?  Over a decade? How do you know who she is if you haven’t even tried to understand her?”  Hook wrestles finally out of the guard’s grasp, brushes off his shoulder.   “Emma’s not the villain you think she is.”

“Be that as it may,” the princess Snow says quietly from her seat at the table, “as the Dark One, she poses a threat, and we cannot allow her to continue to harm our kingdom." 

“Last I checked, it’s usually up to a queen, not a prince or princess, to make decisions about what constitutes a threat to the kingdom.”

All their eyes turn towards the doorway, where the doors are thrown wide and Regina stands, grinning viciously. 

Gone are the tattered rags of royal dresses, the hair piled high in a tangled mess.  In its place is the Evil Queen he remembers hearing about, dressed in sleek black with not a single hair out of place.  There is nothing of the mad woman from the castle here; instead, there is a queen ready to reclaim what is hers.

With a wave of her hand, she freezes Hook. 

“There has been quite enough talking out of you,” she tells him.  “Any more and you may bring the Dark One down on our heads, which is probably what you meant to do all along.  And we can’t have that, now can we?”

Being frozen, he must watch as she stalks towards the prince and princess, train trailing behind her across the cobblestone floors.

The princess stands quickly, tipping over her chair, her face growing paler.   “You’re – “

“Free?  Yes, it appears I am.”  Regina glances over at Hook.  “It also appears you have the Dark One’s lap dog in your possession.”

Regina runs her finger down Hook’s cheek, takes his chin between her thumb and finger. 

There is a moment where their eyes meet, where her façade slips, where she shakes her head quickly and that tells him that Emma knows he is here, and she has sent Regina to – do what? Handle things? End her parents?

Then he remembers: there were two plans.  One was to attack her parents directly.

  
The other was to draw her parents to her.

Regina slides into a chair and throws her feet up on the tabletop.  Her heeled boots make contact with a bread plate, which she kicks and which slides across the polished wooden surface to crash onto the floor at the prince’s feet.

“So what are you going to do now?” she asks.  “Clearly the pirate hasn’t been much help, but isn’t that always the problem dealing with thieves and mutineers? I guess that means you’re going to have to take matters into your own hands, aren’t you?”

Regina’s words, and her presence, have the intended effect.   Visually agitated, the prince draws his sword, the princess places a hand on her husband’s arm.   

Regina seems to be enjoying herself immensely.  “You are, aren’t you?” she asks, leaning forward, and when her words are met with tense silence she shrugs and grabs an apple from the fruit bowl on the table.  “Oh, well, this should be good.”

“Why are you here?” the princess asks, voice trembling.  “To mock us? To rub our faces in the mess you made?”

“On the contrary, my _dear_ step-daughter, I’m here to merely inspire you to make the _right_ decision.”  Her words are pointed and clipped, and Hook can’t help but wonder how much of this has been planned between Regina and Emma, and how much of this is her merely making it up as she goes along.

“You’re too late,” the prince responds, full of arrogance once more.  “Our armies have been on the march since yesterday morning.  They will reach the castle by evening.”

With this Regina stands and, apple in hand, saunters towards the doorway.  “Hope springs eternal.  I see that you’re clearly more motivated than you were in the past.  Well, I won’t outstay my welcome, then”

Before she exits, she looks over her shoulder at the prince and princess once more.  “And I’m taking the pirate with me. 

There is a puff of smoke, and Hook finds himself on the shore of a lake next to Regina.   Now that they are no longer in the castle, any pretense of the Evil Queen has been dropped and she is once again the woman he saw not so long ago, reunited with her love.

She looks Hook up and down, once.  “I can see the appeal,” she says, then shrugs and waves her hand once more. 

Now in the clearing by the lake are a horse and supplies, clearly meant for a journey – clearly meant for him.

“The Dark One has commanded me to tell you, Killian Jones, that you are no longer her prisoner.  As far as she is concerned, you have fulfilled the nature of your contract with her, and you are free to go.”  Regina says these words to Hook carefully.  “I have provided you with a horse and supplies for you to do whatever you wish – your choice.” 

Hook says nothing.  He does not feel anything – not relief at being freed, nor sadness at being his own man again.  The future lays before him like an open road, but he keeps looking behind him, wondering just what he would be leaving if he took that first step. 

He remembers all those days yearning for freedom and now…

Now, all he can think about is Emma.

He nods.  “I understand.  Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me – I’m just the messenger.”

Hook reaches into his jacket, finds the fake hand he carries with him and places it into the brace, where it attaches with a click (he feels empty without something there, even if it is his fake hand). 

Regina takes a step forward. “Where is your hook?  That’s where you kept your poison, right?”

Hook nods, and Regina looks away.  A frown begins to grow across her face, along with a look of deep unease.  She turns, and walks towards the trees and away from Hook and the lake.

“That complicates things somewhat,” she admits, and Hook can see her jaw clench, watches the way that she fingers the necklace that she wears anxiously.  He is anxious, too, and a little big lost in thought.  He can take the horse and leave.  He can head back to his ship. 

Or, he can return to Emma.

“Regina,” he says, and she looks back at him, and he can’t ignore the way she worries her bottom lip with her teeth.  “Robin said that you had a way to save Emma.  Is that true?" 

She takes a deep breath, and then sighs.

“I’m not sure anymore,” Regina replies, her voice full of sadness.

Before he can ask her anything else, she is gone in a whirl of purple smoke, and he is alone.

 

…

 

The parapets at the top of her castle are the perfect location for Emma to watch her parents’ army advance towards her defenses. The soldiers make their way slowly through the town, up the hillside to her castle, all under her watchful eye.  Below, in her courtyard, her shadow creatures linger, humming with her dark energy, ready for this fight.  Belle stands beside her, watching everything.

Emma knew something was wrong before Regina and Robin arrived in a cloud of purple smoke, out of breath and bewildered, in the courtyard.  She had sensed it in her bones – a deep discomfort between her heart and ribs, making it difficult for her to breathe.

_“Something is wrong,” Emma told Belle moments before._

_When they arrived, Regina was the image of fury._

_“Your parents have the pirate,” she told Emma, nostrils flaring.  “I recognized their sigil on the riders’ livery.  They were too fast for us to catch them.”_

_Hands on her hips, muttering under her breath, Regina paced the courtyard.  Emma could feel the magic stirring in the air, fierce with Regina’s anger._

_“My parents,” she repeated, remembering Hook’s arrival and his words, remembering why he came back (had he known how great a threat her parents were the entire time? Was that the real purpose for his return?)._

_She turned away from Regina.  “I should have known they would seize whatever chance they could.”_

_With Regina’s words came the realization that Killian was now lost to her – prisoner of her parents, maybe dead (but she knew he wasn’t though she doesn’t know why –that feeling too lingered in her chest)._

_Her pirate – alive, but a prisoner, and one she damn well meant to make sure was returned (to her, or his ship, it mattered little now)._

_What did matter was that she dealt with her parents once and for all, instead of this constant subterfuge, instead of this lingering threat._

_But what if this was not an ambush? The Darkness inside of her asked.  What if he has been lying to you all along?_

_“No,” she said softly, “Killian would not betray me,” and the words were more instinct that fact, but she knew the truth._

_Emma caught the look in Regina’s eyes, one of concern and it made her feel like little girl with a skinned knee in need of comfort.  She shook it off, pressed her lips together._

_“We need to take the fight to them,” she told Regina.  “I cannot avoid them any longer.”_

There is a puff of purple smoke and Regina appears next to Emma, returning from her errand.   She shakes out her hands, glances down at the army. 

“They’ve been planning this for some time.  I’m not sure if I did anything useful but I did make them angry,” Regina reports back.  “It was fun to be the Evil Queen again." 

“That’s all we needed.”  Emma pauses.  “Did you see him?”

Regina nods.  “He’s free now, to do as he wishes.”  She pauses, then adds “Are you sure you did not want me to bring him here?”

Emma shakes her head.  “He has fulfilled our contract, and helped me prepare.  As far as I am concerned, he is free to do as he wishes.” 

The words she speaks now are exactly what she told to Killian through Regina, and she pushes back the sadness that comes with the thought of never seeing him again (but, she knows he will be safer if he is not here, if he is away on his ship).  

After all, what good is loving someone when you cannot protect them?

Regina hums under her breath, then turns away.  “And Robin?" 

“In the library.”  Emma turns to Belle.  “Go with Regina.  She will keep you safe.”

Belle, who has been silently watching the entire preparation, just nods, and follows Regina down the narrow stairs into the castle.

Emma turns her attention back to the approaching army.  She searches throughout the mass of people for her parents and does not find them – not until a puff of green smoke cuts through the dark, and they appear on white horses. Their banner flaps above their head at they begin to climb the hill that leads to her castle.

Emma takes a deep breath, and looks away. 

 

…

 

The first time that Hook made this journey, it took him two days on foot. 

Now, he races on horseback across meadows and fields, through wood and vale, his heart and mind and soul focused entirely on Emma.

He knows, now, without a doubt that he loves her – loves the princess and the immortal, loves every bit of her brittle nature and her strange charms – and he does not want his own misguided quest for revenge against a different Dark One used to harm her. 

He knows, now, that he would die before that happens.

He digs his heels into his horse, spurs him onward faster, harder, towards Emma. 

 

…

 

The army reaches to the castle gate, and stops for the night. 

The prince and princess look up at the castle.  They are weary, for they have not ridden to war since Regina took their daughter all those years ago.  They are weary, because they never thought this day would come: their daughter so close, yet so far, lost to them in the Darkness and in decay.

Within the courtyard, the Dark One’s shadow minions seethe and stir, growing restless by the presence of thousands upon thousands of men on the other side of wood and stone.  

In the highest tower, the Dark One screams, frightening the horses in the camp down below.

In the library, Regina and Robin and Belle wait.  The candles burn low around them.

(Each and everyone one of them understands that their worlds may end come morning light.)

 

…

 

The battle starts at dawn.

It becomes immediately clear that Emma’s parents have their own magic – Zelena, a witch that Emma has banished back to Oz not once but twice, whose green smoke brought her parents here and who attempts to cast spells that are stronger than she can actually manage.

She dispatches with Zelena first. 

Her shadow creatures have been told to wound and maim, not kill (“whether or not they are in open rebellion these men are still my subjects, Emma, and I may have need of them once I regain my throne”) so the battle lingers on longer than Emma would like.  She stands and watches from the top of her castle, fingers tapping against the stone, growing more and more agitated by the moment. 

She wishes he was here with her. He would know what to do.  For now, she wonders.  Should she go and fight? 

She should be fighting.

And so she goes, but in the singular pursuit of one goal: her parents. 

The good memories she has of them are faint, hidden inside of her after years of Regina’s slander.  She had spent the better part of her childhood trying to reconcile what she remembered with what she was told.  Eventually, when she became the Dark One and it became more and more obvious that those who gave birth to her were also seeking to destroy her, whatever precious love existed in her heart hardened.

And now, she finds them at the center of the battle, swords drawn as they fight back her wraiths.

“You have come for me,” she tells them, clearly and loudly over the din. “Here I am.”

Her parents turn their attention to her.

Her mother lowers her sword and looks at her with such emotion that it makes Emma’s chest ache.

Her father looks right through her, and the ache grows.

“Oh Emma,” she says, and Emma remembers that voice, remembers fingers playing with her hair, remembers gentle kisses on her brow. “You’ve grown.”

_These are the people who sent the pirate to kill you_ , the Darkness reminds her.  _These people are not the parents you remember.  They are something else entirely._

Emma shakes off the memories.  Emma strikes first, attacking, pushing forward, and her mother responds.  She lets the Darkness guide her strokes but the princess seems to hesitate, seems unsure of what to do.

“Fight me,” Emma replies, taking a step back before attacking again letting anger fill her veins, letting the Darkness eat it’s fill of her hurt.  “That is what you are here for, is it not?”

This seems to jar her mother, who missteps.  “We never wanted this for you.”

The words are poison, and they do their trick: Emma reacts with a slashing blow. 

“ ** _I_** never wanted this!” she shouts at her mother.  “I never wanted any of this!”

“But you took it onto yourself,” Princess Snow cries as she parries.  “You claimed the Darkness!  You killed innocent people! **_She_** made you into a monster!”

Space has cleared around them, and Emma blinks back tears.  She is surprised that she has shed whatever cool, composed demeanor she has cultivated around herself in the face her mother, but she is also not surprised that the sight of her parents is like pouring salt in an open wound. It makes her anger stronger.  It makes the Darkness inside of her more powerful, just like she needs it to be.

But it also breaks her (she's not that strong after all).

“I never wanted the Darkness – I just wanted to Roland back.”  She wipes the tears away with her free hand, moves back into a fighting stance.   “I never wanted more than what I had.  That was enough.”

This seems to silence her mother.  The Princess Snow takes a step back.  She drops her sword and raises her hands to her face.  Tears gleam in the corners of her eyes.

The Darkness recoils.

“Oh Emma,” the Princess cries.

Behind her mother, Emma spots her father. He has remained silent and still this whole time.

Now, he moves.

That is when everything changes.

 

…

 

The end happens almost as quickly as the beginning:

The prince raises his sword to strike his daughter down.

The daughter, full of darkness, throws him backwards onto the ground. He does not get up again.

The princess lets out a cry of rage.  Whatever emotions fill her soul and tangle in her veins are now amplified by her husband’s injury and her daughter’s role in it.  She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her secret weapon: the pirate’s hook.

She charges and swings.

The daughter steps into the death blow. 

The hook sinks deep into her belly.

Her mother drops her hands in shock. 

The hook remains in the Dark One.

The sky opens and the rain begins.

 

…

Emma has not known such pain.

The poison spreads quickly, as they thought it might, through her veins, battling the darkness, battling and winning.

In the courtyard, around her, the shadow army falters, screeching in terror before dissolving into the mist.

The Dark One falls to her knees.  Everything was going as planned. 

She had set out this morning knowing she would die but the feeling was quite different than she expected.  She had set out this morning knowing that she would let her parents kill her and end the battle for good .

And in death, the Darkness escapes, leeching out of her veins, leeching out of her skin.  Palms flat against the stones, breathing heavy, breathing fast as the Darkness begins to spiral above her, angry and violent, looking for its next home now that this vessel is fading.

And Emma thinks, _so this is what it feels like to die_.

…

Hook arrives at the castle just as the rain starts.  He jumps off his horse and races through the remnants of the princely army, where the men stagger around shocked and wounded.  Emma’s shadow army is not here.  Emma is not here –

Or so he thinks, until he sees her on the ground, the Darkness an oily black shape hovering above her.  She is on her hands and knees until she coughs, spits up blood, falls face-first into the dirty.

In the distance, Hook thinks he sees the princess, cradling the limp body of prince and wailing.  He thinks he sees Regina, emerging from the castle with Belle.

But his eyes keep returning to Emma, lying in a pool of red blood, with the swirling inky blackness above her, his hook is buried deep in her belly and all he thinks is that _he has killed her after all_.

He races across the dark soil of the courtyard, slips in the mud in his rush to be at her side.  He takes her hand ( _it is already growing cold – he has killed her after all_ ).

“Emma.”

She opens her eyes.   They are so very green.

“You came back,” she says, her voice faint. She smiles. “Good.”

“Always, love,” he tells her, griping her hand in his.  He presses a kiss to the back of her knuckles, pressed a kiss to her palm, to her forehead.  He can hear her breathing becoming more labored, can hear her last gasps, and he does something selfish:  he steals her final breaths with a kiss.

Her lips are soft, and they open easily for him, and when he pulls back she smiles once more and goes still.

The sky mourns with him.

…

 

But this is not the end.

The Darkness knows it is not the end.  Its last vessel may be dead, but the one below it – the one who loves the former Dark One, the one who has struggled with pain for so long – he may be an interesting choice.

_He may be fun._

But there is a pull across the ground, back towards the castle – the pull of the dagger, held aloft by the precious girl who loved another Dark One (how foolish to think he would love anything but power?).  

“Darkness, I summon then,” she cries, and the Darkness thinks that maybe she will do nicely.

The Darkness follows, already planning how to corrupt her body and soul.

And then: 

The dagger is placed in an urn. 

The Darkness follows.

The urn is closed.

It is trapped.

The Darkness fights but the space is too small, the magic too old, the bonds of the spells that lay one on top of the other in this vessel too great.

It is trapped.

 

…

 

But this is not the end.

Even as the pirate weeps, even as the pirate holds his love to him, brushing back her hair and pressing kisses to her brow, life is still stirring.

Magic is still at work.

He kisses her lips once more, twice more, and still the magic grows, grows until it bursts out and across the battlefield in the incarnation of True Love’s Kiss.

The former Dark One opens her eyes and takes a deep breath.

The pirate stops breathing, and watches, as light slides across her features, across her skin, accumulating above her heart and becoming so bright that he must close his eyes. 

It fades.

The former Dark One sits up, and looks at him carefully.

Gone are all the vestiges of the curse: instead of reptilian skin, she glows with inner warmth and beauty, a blush across her cheeks.  Instead of clothes of darkness, she wears a robe of white.  Her hair, no longer bound by intricate braids, falls around her shoulders.

But her eyes are still the same, and her mouth.

“Killian,” she says, fingers tracing over his face, his features, as if she has not seen him in ages (and maybe she has not).  

"Killian," she says as she threads her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.

"Killian," she says, as pulls him forward into a kiss.

The rain stops.

The sun begins to shine.

She does not stop kissing him.

 

 

 

 


End file.
